


there is a rhythm (for you and me)

by Capiche



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9936119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capiche/pseuds/Capiche
Summary: Jyn lives with her baton by her side and words tattooed across her sternum.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This mostly stemmed from my desire to see Jyn as the super-intelligent child of her equally intelligent parents: Galen Erso and Lyra Erso, two ridiculously smart and amazing human beings. 
> 
> (Okay, so maybe Lyra Erso's amazing makes up for Galen Erso's slight lack of amazing - but).

For Jyn’s fifth Life Day gift, she gets a torque wrench.

“Seriously?” Mama laughs, lightly smacking Papa on the shoulder. “I thought you were joking!”

Papa smiles and reaches up to cover one of Mama’s hands with his own.

“It’ll be useful,” he replies. “She can learn a lot from it.”

“Don’t teach her to use it as a club, then,” Mama calls, moving upstairs to return to her sample studies. “Teach her physics or something!”

“What’s fi-zics?” Jyn asks, still turning the torque wrench in her small chubby hands. Even with both her hands grasping it she only covers a third of it.

“Physics,” Papa corrects gently, helping her flip it around so she can examine the flat circular head on the other end. “It’s what you learn so you can help build things.”

“Really?” Jyn’s eyes are wide. She likes building things. Yesterday she built a small mud hut for the pylats that wandered near their home. Her plans had been derailed somewhat by the fact that the pylats seemed suspicious of the hut, but Mama had said they were probably concerned by the _struktural integrety_ and would Jyn please come inside and have dinner now.

Papa’s eyes are warm. “Yes,” he says. “Sometimes you use torque wrenches in physics.”

Jyn looks at the strange shiny thing with renewed interest. “When can I learn phizics?”

“Not for a while.” Papa lifts her up so that they sit facing each other cross-legged. “First you have to master basic maths, and then harder maths, and then really advanced maths, and then you can learn physics.”

That sounds like a lot of effort and something that Jyn is not willing to go through. “But do I have to?”

Papa chuckles. “If you want to build anything worthwhile, then yes,” he says firmly, crushing little Jyn’s dreams somewhat, but they perk up when he adds: “But I can teach you something now - it’s why I gave you that, actually.”

He points at one of side of the strange shiny grooves. “What a torque wrench does is make it easy for you to loosen nuts and bolts,” he starts. “It works off the most basic principle of Physics - moment arm with force makes torque.”

There were a lot of unfamiliar words in that sentence, so Jyn starts with the funniest-sounding one. “Tork?”

“Yes, torque. It’s like -” Papa thinks. “You know when spin the water mills around?”

Jyn thinks of the times she’s spun around on the water mill until she was so dizzy she had to sit down for a while. “Yeah?”

“That’s torque,” Papa says. “Turning things around. Moving things. A wise man once said that if you had a long enough stick and a place to stand on, you could move the world.”

 

***

 

The first time Jyn meets Cassian Andor she’s fourteen years old and dragging his unconscious body into an enclave while a firefight rages around them. His blood is everywhere; on his face, on her jacket, on her fingers and making her hold on her makeshift rolling stretcher slippery.

 _The total entropy of a closed system will always increase over time_ , she recites, willing herself to ignore the smell of death all around her as she lowers the stretchers and finally allows herself to look at her patient’s face as a doctor about to heal, rather than a doctor deciding whether there was a chance at all.

There’s a 60 per cent chance he will die, she still thinks.

 _But there’s a 40 per cent chance he won’t_ , another part of her says staunchly, the part that she resents and respects in equal parts.

Out loud, she says: “Stay awake - stay with me, please, you’ve got to stay awake.” She fumbles for her medical kit with one hand, her fingers slick with his blood. The other hand she firmly plants on the gaping wound in his shoulder. The human male’s breathing starts to slows, and she wants to shout in frustration and then relief when her fingers finally close around the bacta patches.

She tells him: “You’re going to be fine, it’s going to be fine, just stay with me, okay?”, while she tries to be gentle with applying the patches onto his shoulder. Her hands are as steady as her voice is, which is why she isn’t surprised when she almost drops the patches onto the dusty soil.

But the patches slip from her fingers and onto the sand when there's a grunt of pain and a hoarse voice says, “Estoy en el cielo?”

A flare of warmth along her sternum. Jyn very deliberately does not scramble to see what’s happened to the words inked on her sternum.

“What?” she says instead, bacta patches forgotten in Jedha’s sands.

The man’s face turns to her, eyes unfocused and brow furrowed. “Eres un angel?”

Jyn sits back on her heels. “I - I only speak Standard - and some Q’uelnese.” She watches as he pauses.

“Ah - ,” he coughs, in Standard. “I didn’t realise.”

There are many things she wants to say, in this moment, in this cave, and with this strange person on the ground in front of her, like:

_Who are you?_

_Where are you from?_

_Do you know why your words are on my skin?_

_Are my words on your skin?_

“Doesn’t matter,” she tells him instead, ignoring the strange way her heart pounds in her chest. “Here, can I get some of this grime off you?”

He grimaces at that, blinking woozily enough that she makes a note to check for concussion. “Kriff,” he says. “I probably look awful. Sorry about that.”

He does, and smells even worse. “You look fine,” she assures him, and then immediately wants to kick herself when the corner of his mouth ticks up wryly, because since _when_ did she comfort strange beings on their looks? She opens her mouth, wondering if she should take it back, then decides to let it drop, busying herself with re-purposing the dropped bacta patches.

There’s silence for a while as she tries to wipe off the sweat and blood on his forehead.

Then he shifts in discomfort. “Why are you helping me?”

She looks at him in surprise. There’s a white band around her forearm, a sign to all fighters that she is not to be harmed while she provides medical aid.

“I’m a medic,” she says slowly, uncertain. Then she thinks of the times she’s fought alongside Saw’s rebels. “Well, sometimes, at least.”

“Oh.” The man blinks rapidly, then frowns. “Okay.”

She’s done the best she can, the layers of grime stripped back to a few patches here and there. Without it, without the marks of war, she can see the softness of youth still in his cheeks, the straggly beginnings of a beard on his chin. He could only be four cycles older than her, at most.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

He blinks some more, before squinting at her. “I - “ he starts, then shakes his head vigorously. Pauses, before admitting in a resigned tone, “Why is everything white?”

Jyn stares at him in alarm. They’re surrounded by red cave walls, red as the blood on her hands now, _his_ blood. When he moves to shake his head again, she puts her palms to his cheeks to stop him, unthinking, and he stills immediately. She wants to let go but dropping him abruptly could only make his head worse, and there’s nothing soft to put his head on. Reluctantly, she lowers him to lie on her legs.

“You need to stay still,” she tells him with a briskness she doesn’t feel, especially not when her heart is determined to turn cartwheels in her chest. “I’m going to check for eye damage, but it’s more likely you damaged something when you hit your head.”

He seems very young, Jyn thinks, to be lying on Jedha with a blaster at his hip and possibly permanent blindness. There’s the weight of a blaster at her own hip, of course, but Jedha is her home - or some semblance of it. This man - boy - is planets away from his, fighting for a cause too big for his still growing frame.

The boy does an admirable job at staying still, but begins to fidget soon enough. “Will I - is it permanent?”

“I don’t know,” she says, deciding to spare him the odds (78 per cent likelihood of permanent blindness), then feels something in her chest clench as she takes in his downcast expression. “But it should be alright. Just stay still, and we’ll see if you feel any better in a while.”

He sags back against her, suddenly, the fight all gone from him. “I was stupid,” he mutters, raising one filthy hand to scrub at his face. “Stupid to have come here, stupid to have thought I was ready to fight.” His voice raises and wobbles tellingly, and he turns his face away, closer into the material of her combat fatigues.

“Oh,” Jyn says, helplessly. “No, come on, no.” She reaches down to put her arms awkwardly around his shoulders, feeling far out of her depth when he grasps blindly at her and gasps silently into her jacket.

Emotions were not her forte.

She tries rocking him gently, telling him: “You aren’t stupid.” That doesn’t seem to have much of an effect, which is disheartening yet unsurprising, so she tries again. “You’re just as brave as any fighter I’ve ever met. There was this one time I met a seasoned veteran - xie had fought with Saw in the Clone Wars, but when I got to them on the field, they’d lost half of one arm, and all of the other.”

When Jyn had stumbled back to base, she had thrown up until there was nothing bile. She had only been thirteen years old, the first time Saw had sent her out as a part of the medical corps and certainly not the last.

“I got them behind some shelter, and tried to get the bleeding to stop. Blood everywhere. It was - “ Jyn hesitates. “It wasn’t good. And xie was screaming, and screaming.”

She pauses, and the boy sniffs and says, “Did xie - die?” He says it slowly at first, then quickly towards the end like he isn’t sure he wants to know but is too committed by then to stop.

“No,” she tells him. “Xie lived, and we got some prosthetics later on. Xie never stopped fighting, like you.”

What she doesn’t say is that she’s never understood this, the utter belief some beings can have in a cause so much bigger than themselves, the way a being can keep running blindly down a path with nothing but hope to guide them.

The boy looks thoughtful and wipes roughly at his face with his grimy sleeve until Jyn stuffs a slightly less grimy handkerchief in his hand.

“I’m eighteen,” he states, matter-of-fact. “I begged my captain to let me come on this mission.”

Jyn stares down at him, this human boy whose first words to her are written above her sternum for reasons she does not know. “I’m fourteen,” she offers, then adds: “I certainly didn’t beg my commander to come here.”

“Really?” he says. “I started with the Rebellion when they rescued me from Fest. Been with them ever since.”

“Fest is an Imperial-controlled planet,” she says, memory dredging up the information Saw had made her memorise, and the boy scowls.

“It wasn’t before. Before the Empire decided that they wanted the agricultural lands to fuel their army, it was beautiful. Peaceful. People were happy.” He looks sad, but determined too. “That’s why I fight,” he tells her, painfully earnest. “Because the galaxy deserves peace. All beings deserve to live better.”

 

***

 

Later, Jyn will think of this moment as she sits in the hot, red sands of Jedha with this boy who has been blinded by a firefight yet still sees more of the world than she does, and she will think of torque and of moving the world, and she will swear that the words on her skin will feel like a leaden weight painted across her chest.

 

***

 

“You should rest,” Jyn says, at last. “We’ll be safe here.”

“I am tired,” the boy admits, and there isn’t even a trace of his earlier hesitation on his face. Her heart aches a little as he turns his face trustingly to face her.

He’s quiet as she rearranges them, her back against the wall and he more comfortably across her legs. She’s just spreading a thin heat blanket from her medical kit across their bodies when he speaks again.

“You know,” he begins, tone thoughtful. “I feel like I’m missing something right now. That there’s something I’m forgetting.”

 _Do you know what it means when someone’s words appear on your skin_ she wants to ask. _Do you even have any? Does anyone have them, besides me?_

Instead she gives in to a different urge, and cautiously smoothes a hand over his forehead, feeling the strangely soft strands brush against her palm. “You’ll remember,” she tells him, closing her eyes and leaning against the cave wall. “We have time.”

 

***

 

She wakes up gasping, hours later, surrounded by Saw’s rebels. She had been drugged, they tell her, the sedative delivered by a dart from behind.

 _Had she been alone_ , she asks. _Had there - been anyone else with her when the rebels had found her?_

They look at each other, confused. _The only one in the cave had been her._

And Jyn closes her eyes, surrounded by the walls of one of Jedha’s many sand caves, surrounded by ten of Saw’s best fighters, the beings she has grown up around.

The odds of her seeing the boy again are so minimal that she gives up somewhere in the fifth decimal place, and tries not to think about why she feels alone for the second time in her life.

 

***

 

Trust the Force, Mama had said.

 

***

 

The second time Jyn meets Cassian Andor, they are eight years older and he’s interrogating her.

He’s also Captain Cassian Andor now, and someone has apparently taken the initiative to teach him to school his face better as he stands before her, coolly asking question after question and doing stunningly little to quell the rise of resentment under her skin.

“When was the last time you were in contact with your father?” he asks smoothly, like he’s reading it off a datapad in front of him.

“I like to think he’s dead.” she tells him - as flippantly as she can manage, mostly because she thinks there’s a 30 per cent chance it’ll stop him from looking at her with that terrible blankness.

It works, if only a little. His jaw works to hold back a scowl, but he presses on. “And Saw Gerrera?”

She doesn’t bother holding back _her_ scowl. “It’s been a long time.”

He raises an eyebrow, face once again the mask of professional disinterest. “But he’ll speak to you, won’t he? If you come as a friend.”

Jyn looks at Cassian, and she thinks -

 

***

 

She thinks,

_Did you ever think of me, after Jedha?_

_Did you think of the nameless person who cleaned your face and sat with you and held you as you cried?_

_Do you remember me?_

 

***

 

Jyn looks at Cassian, this Captain of the Rebellion with his worn, but neat uniform, and his hard, unrelenting gaze. She looks away.

“And if I do this,” she hears herself say.

Senator Mothma speaks. “You’ll go free.”

Jyn does not look at Cassian. _The boy is gone_ , she thinks, and she does not feel tired, just as the place over sternum does not ache.

Instead, she says. “Then what are we waiting for?”

 

***

 

When Jyn was sixteen years old, Saw Gerrera handed her a blaster and her medical kit and told her to wait.

“Let me come with you,” Jyn said. “I can help. I can take care of myself.”

Saw had gazed at her through eyes that had perfect vision yet were clouded with something Jyn didn’t know how to describe.

(It was devotion, devotion to a cause. To the Rebellion. To something so much bigger than Saw himself that he’d lost himself.)

(But it would be many more years until she realised that.)

When Jyn was sixteen, Saw had led her to a bunker, and given her supplies and an order to “stay here, don’t do anything.”

He had said:

“You’ll be safe here.”

“I’ll come back for you.”

“I do this to protect you.”

And then he had left, limping out of the bunker without a backwards glance. Days had passed. A week. Two weeks. By the third, she calculated that there was a 90 per cent change Saw would not come back.

Odds, chances, probabilities - those were the things Jyn trusted in, and so when the third week ticked over to the fourth, she left the bunker and never looked back.

 

***

 

It doesn’t take Jyn long to realise that this Captain Cassian Andor still shares at least one trait with the boy from Jedha.

“Hope?” she asks. The only hope she lets herself feel is that her scepticism is 100 per cent conveyed through her arched eyebrows.

“Rebellions are built on hope,” he tells her, and she barely stops herself from rolling her eyes.

“I prefer the soil for foundations, personally,” she snarks. “I find hope rather unsteady to build anything on.”

Cassian snorts. “How surprising,” he says, but the corner of his lips ticks up and with a start she realises he’s smiling as he looks around the crowded city. There may even be fondness in his gaze.

She nudges him with her elbow. “What’re you so happy for?”

He looks down at her - and doesn’t that still give her a start, that the boy she knew has grown so much taller - “I have some fond memories of this place.”

She looks at him, ignoring the treacherous swell of _maybe_ and something like hope under her sternum. “You have fond memories of Jedha.”

She says it flatly, but his lips quirk up even more. “Yes, well,” is all he says, before getting back to the business at hand.

 

***

 

Here’s the thing.

Before he was Captain Cassian Andor and after he was the boy from Jedha, he was Cassian Andor - known operative of the Rebel Alliance and a wanted being across the galaxy, with a bounty of about 10 000 credits on his head.

She first sees his face on a poster while on a heist in Coruscant when she’s seventeen years old.

“Savrin!” her partner for this job, a blue-skinned Trellian named Ratra, hisses. “Look sharp.”

Jyn turns around and grabs Ratra by the forearm. “Who is he?” she murmurs, pointing at the poster. “Who is that boy?”

Ratra looks at her incredulously, which is unsurprising considering Jyn hasn’t shown any interest in anything or, well, _anyone_ since she first turned up with a blaster and an offer to split the goods from a corporate heist. She’d called herself Savrin, after the so-called hero of a Corellian uprising many deca-cycles ago. Savrin had hijacked authority systems, holding the upper class’ water and energy hostage until they had agreed to distribute wealth more evenly.

(Jyn is not a hero.)

“That is not a boy,” Ratra says finally, after deciding Jyn’s not just having xie on. “That is a man. Cassian Andor. Rebellion affiliate, pretty high up or so I hear. Pretty attractive too, for a human,” xie adds, leering a little. “Why, you interested in him?”

Jyn’s hand drops from Ratra’s forearm. “Just curious,” she says flatly, tearing her eyes away from the poster and briskly checking that all her gear are in place. There’s a 81 per cent chance of failure for this mission that she doesn’t let herself linger on for too long. “Let’s get moving.”

 

***

 

Captain Cassian Andor, Jyn decides, is a liar and a hypocrite.

“You lied to me,” she says. She wants to cry, but there are still tears mixed with rain drying on her cheeks. She wants to scream, but her throat is already hoarse.

She wants her father to be alive, but his blood is on her hands.

Cassian gives her cursory glance before continuing his weapons maintenance. “You’re in shock.”

She thinks she could hit him. “You knew that you were going to kill my father,” she hisses, and kriff - the words across her chest are like ice. “You knew, all this time. _Didn’t you?_ ”

Cassian finally looks at her, and she’s momentarily shocked by the intensity she sees in his eyes. “I had orders,” he spits. “Orders that I _disobeyed_. I had every chance to take the shot, but did I?” He shakes his head, like somehow she’s the one who’s disappointing. “But you wouldn’t understand, would you?”

All of a sudden she’s just furious. “You think that just because you’re fighting for a cause that it makes you so much better than everyone else? That just because you’re part of the Rebellion, in the fight against the Empire, that it hands you the right to just - do whatever you want?” He flinches, and she feels the rearing of an ugly sense of satisfaction in her chest. “But you’re wrong, Captain. You’re wrong. Following orders like an obedient little soldier, never thinking for yourself? Hiding behind your masks?” He’s gone white now, and some distant part of her knows she should stop, but she’s too far gone now. She steps forward, steps in close to him and goes for the kill. “You’re no better than a Stormtrooper.”

And then there’s just deafening silence in the cargo hold, and she thinks that it’s very likely she’s gone too far. Her mouth opens, but no words come out.

Cassian is still staring at her, but there’s a suspicious sheen to his eyes. “At least,” he says finally, voice steady, “I’m doing something to help the galaxy. Something not for myself.” And then he’s gone, taking care not to brush her sleeve as he heads towards the service ladder and disappears up into the flight deck.

 

***

 

She resolves to talk to him as soon as they land on Yavin IV, but for a man who’s almost a whole head taller than her he moves remarkably quickly.

Instead, when she hauls herself up onto the flight deck she finds K-2SO in the cockpit of their stolen Imperial freighter, running post-flight checks.

“Where’s Cassian?” she asks, against her better judgement which tells her not to engage an Imperial security droid, as reprogrammed it may be and for all she grudgingly respects K-2SO’s running commentary of statistics, which are usually within a 1.2 per cent deviation from her own.

Her better judgement is vindicated but for different reasons when K-2SO turns to face her.

“You know," he tells her, "I told the Captain that there was a high probability of you using your blaster against him. I didn’t realise there was a certainty of you hurting him, with or without the blaster.”

And how like Cassian, to have reprogrammed an Imperial droid to have overprotective tendencies.

“You don’t understand,” she snaps, the rush of anger immediate and familiar. “He was wrong to lie to me about my father.”

“That is true,” K-2SO concedes. “And yet, he did not in actual fact kill your father.”

“Alliance bombs did!” Jyn shouts. “My father would still be alive if your Rebellion fleet hadn’t come in.”

K-2SO fixes her with his unblinking stare. “Did you know that Cassian called for a belay on the strike order?” he asks, tone mild. “Just before they came, he radioed them to tell them to fall back - but they had already engaged.”

She had not, in fact, known that, and she feels strangely bereft.

“I -” She slumps. “Oh.”

“I am not going to claim that Cassian has not done questionable things.” K-2SO turns back to the console. “And yet, he has always tried to do what he knows is best. Sometimes this means doing things that he also knows to be wrong.”

K-2SO pauses while rebooting the comms system. “I think that Cassian is a good person. And probably not as good a soldier as you credit him to be.”

Jyn bites her lip. “I think I should - apologise,” she says, jerkily.

“I think that is a wise choice,” K-2SO says, and she thinks if he could, he would be smiling.

 

***

 

After some pointed questions and haggling for details, Jyn finally tracks Cassian to a small cave on the side of one of Yavin IV’s many mountains.

“I would rather not talk about it,” is the first thing he says, just as she's pulling herself over the edge of the outcropping.

She isn’t, well, surprised - Cassian not wanting to talk had been the second most likely scenario, only topped by the possibility that Cassian would take the chance to rehash their previous argument, leading to a not unsignificant chance that one of them would end up tossing the other off the cliff. And yet, for a moment Jyn stands there panting with exertion and wants to say _well,_ _tough_ , before she remembers that she's here to make amends, not be a bigger nerfherder.

So instead she catches her breath, and sighs. “If that's what you want,” she says carefully. “Just give me a moment, I'll be ready to climb down.”

If Cassian is taken aback at her easy acquiesce, he doesn't show it as he uncurls a little from where he's sitting against a rock outcropping. “You don't have to leave,” he says. “I just don't want to talk about Eadu.”

Well. Her thighs still burn, muscles all protesting at their treatment, and -- maybe this is the first step to apologising to Cassian Andor, so she sits down unceremoniously by the cave entrance.

She hadn't taken the time to appreciate the view as she climbed up, but now, sitting on a ledge far above the ground, she realises that from this height the Rebellion base is a set of small triangles in the distance, and that the lush forests have been reduced to carpets of green that surround the base and the hills around it.

It makes her feel strangely small.

“Yavin IV is very beautiful.”

Jyn turns to see Cassian standing beside her. She hadn't even heard him get up and walk over.

“There are worse places to be in,” she agrees, deciding to ignore the way something pounds beneath her ribcage.

“Like prison?” he inquires mildly. She glances up at him, only to see the corner of his mouth upturned, and she has to look away before she does something stupid, like smile back, or try to map out that upturn of lips with her fingers.

“Yeah,” she says, “You wouldn't believe the state of some of those prisons. Some didn't even have wallpaper in the cells.”

“Shameful.”

“Scandalous,” she agrees, and then she's risking another glance at him, only to meet his amused gaze and then they're both laughing, gasping, and shaking atop a mountain far above the Rebellion Base and responsibilities.

 

***

 

“I am sorry, for your father,” he tells her later on, once they've both subsided. It had taken a while; each time one of them had trailed off, a glance at the other had set them off again until they were both shaking again and in serious danger of falling off the ledge, but eventually they had stopped for good and sat beside one another, their fingers inches apart, in a silence that wasn't quite comfortable but was far from uncomfortable, at any rate.

She thinks she could live with this - with words that are not hers but are painted across her chest for reasons she does not know, with the knowledge that _anything can be moved if you have the right things_ , and with the boy she once briefly knew, now as her -- friend? -- by her side.

“I shouldn't have lied to you about your father, either,” he continues, and he drags his hand over his face in a painfully familiar way.

The outcropping is quiet for a moment.

“You aren't anything like a stormtrooper,” she says, and she does her best to infuse the strength of her conviction into her voice.

She hates the defeated, self-doubting look in Cassian’s eyes. She hates that she helped put it there.

“Sometimes,” he tells her, voice hushed, and looking out over Yavin IV, “Sometimes I think about the things I've done. The beings I've killed. The lies I've told. Sometimes I think-”

“What do you think?” Jyn murmurs.

He says -

 

***

 

Cassian says, “I think that I really am no better than a stormtrooper."

He says, “Once I killed a double agent. A fellow Rebellion spy who was feeding information to the Empire. My orders were to take him out once I had solid proof. No trial. No chances.”

He says, “I found the proof in his home. Every security code we had, every name of Rebellion spies, all listed and ready for transmission. That’s pretty solid as far as proof goes, right?”

He says, “But turns out he had only wanted to protect his family. The Empire was holding his family. He was allowed to see them for half an hour after delivering each new set of intel.”

Jyn says, “Did you kill him?”

Cassian says:

“Yes.”

“It was what was necessary.”

“And if the Rebellion needed me to, I’d do it again.”

 

***

 

Cassian exhales, and finally turns to look at her. “I’m no better than a stormtrooper, because - in the end? I’m just another soldier following orders.”

Jyn shakes her head vehemently. “You fight for what you believe in,” she says staunchly. “You make your own choices - and they’re not always great - but - “

“You were right though, back on the plane,” Cassian murmurs ruefully, and Jyn kind of wants to reach back in time and kick her past self. “What _does_ give me the right to take the life of others, just because I’m part of the Rebellion? I may be fighting for what I believe in, but others may be fighting for what matters to them - their lives, their loved ones, _their_ causes. We’re just a bunch of people in this galaxy, fighting for our own causes.”

Jyn has nothing to say to this man, who is at once the boy she knew yet something more, so she does the only thing she can and hugs him.

It’s awkward, at least at first. They’re sitting at the wrong angle for a proper hug, and he stiffens imperceptibly when she first puts her arm around his waist, and she almost pulls away after a few fraught seconds of internal debate. But then he’s moving, shifting so that he can put his arms around her as well, and they sit there for a while in a silence that still isn’t comfortable, but is hell of a lot closer to it.

 

***

 

If someone had told seventeen, even sixteen, years old Jyn that she would one day be standing with Galactic senators, calling for them to take action against the Empire, she would have huffed out something like a laugh before knocking them out and taking their credit chip.

And yet here she is, against the odds.

“If the Empire has this kind of power, what chance do we have?” Senator Barathma asks, her headscarves glimmering in the dark light of the control room where half of the Rebellion forces seem to have crowded in.

Jyn feels a rise of the same emotion she felt welling up when she saw her father across the canyon on Eadu. It makes her feel reckless.

“The question is what choice,” she says loudly. “Run, hide, plead, beg for mercy - when you give into an enemy this large and this powerful, you’re condemning the entire galaxy to a life of slavery and misery. We need to fight -” she raises her voice over the murmurs that erupt behind her: “We need to fight, and we need to do it now.”

Senator Von Yano sneers at her. “Why should we follow the advice of a criminal - who also happens to be the daughter of the Imperial scientist who built the Death Star?”

(She had taken in his expensive robes, his immaculate hair, and unscarred hands when the meeting had first started, and had compared him to Cassian’s age-worn uniform, hair just this side of neat and hands that are soft but strangely strong.)

(She couldn’t help but find the senator wanting.)

“Precisely because I am the daughter of Galen Erso,” Jyn says. “I know my father never wanted to build it. I know he built a flaw into the system. And I know where to find the plans we need to destroy the Death Star. My father’s legacy was one of peace - the Empire forced him to build a weapon.”

Senator Organa meets her eyes across the control table. “And why do you think your plan will succeed, Jyn Erso?”

She holds his gaze. “Because I want revenge,” she says simply. “And sometimes that’s all you need to pull the trigger.”

 

***

 

“You don’t look happy,” Chirrut notes, when she comes storming out of the meeting with Bodhi close behind her. If a blind man can see that, she wonders what everyone else is seeing.

“They’d rather surrender,” Jyn replies. The _cowards_ at the end hangs in the air between them.

Chirrut certainly hears them, and his lips twitch a little. “And what would you like to do?”

She doesn’t even need to think. “Fight.”

Bodhi bumps his shoulder into hers, a solid comforting weight. “We all do.”

“Alright.” Baze heaves a massive sigh. “How many do we need?”

Jyn looks around at them, this little ragtag group of misfits, their utter lack of hesitation, and feels a swell of something she refuses to name.

(Because the first time she felt it was with her father and mother, and the last time she felt it was with Cassian, up on the mountain.)

“I don’t think - four is quite enough,” she admits. Failure is almost certain with those odds, and defeat tastes sour in her mouth.

Baze snorts. “Four?” he says, gesturing behind her. “Check again, little sister.”

And Jyn turns around to see -

 

***

 

She will never admit this, but her vision may have blurred from tears for a moment. If anyone asks, it was grit.

 

***

 

“We have all done questionable things,” Cassian says, standing in front of her and a group of rebels at various stages of life but all with the same hunted look. “Saboteurs, assassins, spies - the only thing that keeps us going is knowing we do it for the Rebellion.

“But if we gave up now?” He shakes his head. “I know that I couldn't face myself if I gave up. None of us could.”

Jyn stands there staring at him, before clearing her throat. She should say something, but nothing comes to mind.

Bodhi, ever steady Bodhi, comes to her aid. “It won’t be comfortable,” he says, and when she looks at him he puts a bracing hand on her shoulder. “The cargo hold isn’t - big - but you should all fit.”

“That’s fine,” Cassian says, and the rebels behind him murmur their agreement. He turns away, shouting orders. “Alright everyone, prepare to move out, take everything that’s not nailed down!”

Jyn is left to her own devices with Chirrut when Baze and Bodhi jog off, presumably to make preparations, and she leans against some scaffolding next to him. “We’re probably going to die, you know,” she says. Probably not an appropriate conversational starter, but Jyn was always more of a shoot first, talk later being.

Chirrut smiles. “All is as the Force wills it, my friend,” he says, hands steady on his staff. “Have faith in the Force, and what will happen, will happen.”

Perhaps once these words would have annoyed Jyn, but now she asks curiously, “Do you believe in the Force, Chirrut?”

“Of course I do,” he replies. “There was a time when I only had my faith, but now I have Baze too. And, I suspect, you, and the captain, and the pilot, and the droid, as well.”

“How do you -” she hesitates. “How do you keep believing? When everything goes wrong, and it seems like nothing good can happen, how do you keep trusting the Force?”

Chirrut reaches out one hand, and after a moment, she takes it.

“You keep trusting the Force because you know that it’s all you have,” he says. “Sometimes a blind leap of faith off a burning platform is better than not leaping at all.”

Then he's grinning. “ _Blind_ leap of faith,” and Jyn has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

 

***

 

In the quiet moments before they board the freighter, she and Cassian circle each other.

“I’m not used to people sticking around,” she says quietly.

And Cassian looks back at her, large eyes warm and understanding and says, “Welcome home.”

 

***

 

Where is home?

 

***

 

Home is where the heart is, or so she’s heard, usually around Altha’s Day where couples get together and there is an abundance of chocolate and flower sold to the poor sods.

Jyn hasn’t thought seriously about home for a very, very long time. Perhaps the last time she did was at 10 cycles old, where she had marked her entrance to her teen years with a firm decision to stop thinking about home on Lah’mu.

Until now.

“I believe you,” Cassian had said. He’d said it in the Rebellion hangar, with rebels behind him, in front of Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze, and K-2SO. Because his word was a promise, but he knew that she knew he was a professional liar, at times.

So he had said it in front as many as people as possible.

Home is not calculating the probability of treachery. Home is trust. Home is having people at your back.

Jyn thinks she can get used to this home.

 

***

 

The first time Jyn sees Cassian slumped against a column, up high on the Scarif citadel, blaster still smoking from his shot at Krennic, she thinks she’s hallucinating.

It’s only after she’s pulled the lever, transmitted the plans to waiting Rebellion forces, that she allows herself to glance back to him, to see him looking back at her steadily.

“Cassian,” she says.

 

(She doesn’t say:

_I thought you were dead._

_Did you kill Krennic?_

_You came back._

_You came back._

_You came back._ )

 

Instead she starts towards Cassian before catching sight of Krennic himself, still sprawled on the ground and she changes tracks with a snarl to make sure he’s fully dead.

“Jyn.” Strong hands slip around her sides and pull her back against a chest that smells like sweat, blood, and like the boy from Jedha. “Let him go. He’s lost anyway.”

She wants to argue because she wants _revenge_ and never let it be said that she does things by halves, but she catches sight of the twisting of his mouth from pain and anger melts away, leaving only fear.

“Come on, then,” she says, slinging an arm around his waist in turn. As they limp towards the elevator, he asks, “Do you think anyone’s listening?”

“I think so.” She adjusts her grip on him. “I have faith.”

He huffs a laugh. “Jyn Erso? Faith?”

“I guess you can teach an old mynock new tricks.” The elevator doors close behind them. “Don’t get too used to it, though.”

“I would never,” he vows, leaning heavily against the elevator walls and eyes falling shut. Jyn nudges him gently.

“Eyes open, hotshot,” she says. “You might have concussion.”

“Who’re you calling hotshot,” Cassian mumbles, but opens them anyway. Even in the patchy light of the elevator he looks beautiful, she thinks, his eyes warm and the colour of home and soft as he lifts one hand to cup her cheek almost shyly. He’s always been tactile, she realises - on Jedha, both times, he had always leaned into her, guided her with one hand lightly over her back, always stood close to her, a solid, steady presence at her back.

When they stumble out onto the beach, stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades, she catches sight of the horizon. By the tensing of the arm over her shoulders, Cassian notices it as well.

So this is how it all ends, she thinks.

They’re quiet as she leads them to the water’s edge, trying to lower them down as gently as possible onto the sand. They look out to the horizon, where the shockwave is barrelling towards them, the product of terrifying energy manipulation channelled into one devastating blow.

“Your father would be proud of you,” he tells her, and she looks at him, vision blurring a little. The kyber crystal against her skin seems strangely warm.

“I think he would be, too,” she murmurs, finding his hand with her own, and then she’s drawing him into her arms, and his arms are around her, and she thinks that if this is the end, with the first friend she’s had in years by her side, it isn’t so bad. She thinks of Bodhi, of Chirrut, of Baze, and of K-2SO, and hopes that they’ve made it off the planet.

“It’ll be okay,” Cassian says quietly, and she feels strangely calm.

“See you on the other side,” Jyn murmurs back, and closes her eyes.

 

***

 

Jyn wakes up, and promptly wishes she hadn’t.

She knows she’s alive, if only because death couldn’t possibly be this painful. Every muscle is on fire, even the ones she wasn’t aware she had, and she gasps a little from the pain of it.

“Lieutenant Erso!” A doctor hurries up to her side. The rank pinned neatly to her lapel marks her as one Lieutenant Kalonia. “You woke up earlier than expected. It’s only been a week.”

There are so many things that confuse her in that one statement, but speaking means moving, and moving excessively is out of the question, so Jyn picks her most pressing question.

“Survivors?” she rasps. Dr Kalonia puts down her datapad and holds a glass of water to her lips, waiting for Jyn to drain the glass until she speaks. “I assume you mean your squadron, Rogue One.” She doesn’t wait for Jyn to nod. “We have here in our infirmary Captain Andor, Lieutenant Rook, Mr Imwe, Mr Malbus...”

The doctor keeps going, listing off names of the surviving and then the names of the fallen, and Jyn nods along while her mind is dizzy with pain and relief.

“The survivors are all expected to make a full recovery,” Dr Kalonia concludes. “You are the first to wake up, Lieutenant, ahead of your projected recovery schedule by one day.”

“Lieutenant?”

“Posthumous promotion.” The doctor flushes a little. “Sorry - not quite posthumous, but it was at the time it was awarded. Between you and me though,” she lowers her voice, “I think High Command won’t rescind it. You deserve it.”

That is...surprisingly the least of her worries, but it’s good to know that now she has a place with the Rebellion.

“Thanks,” Jyn mumbles. “I - could I see Cassian?”

Dr Kalonia tuts. “You’re in no state to move,” she says sternly. “Most of your injuries were from taking the brunt of the shockwave before our pilots got you out of there. Captain Andor, on top of the same injuries as yours, also managed to break no less than four ribs, rupture his spleen, and fracture his left leg.”

Jyn thinks of the sickening crack as Cassian had lost his grip on the databank tower and fallen, hitting several pylons on the way. She swallows.

“And the others?” she asks. “Mr Imwe sustained several blaster wounds to his torso and abdomen,” Dr Kalonia says, reading off her datapad. “Mr Malbus was treated for a concussion and several blaster wounds to his legs. Lieutenant Rook was surprisingly unharmed, save for a concussion and a blaster shot to the thigh. They are all projected for full recovery within a month at most. Captain Andor may be kept for further recovery for a second month.”

A month, maybe two. Jyn almost can’t believe their good luck that is so against any odds she had calculated. And, judging by the way the doctor eyes her like she’s calculating the best way to sedate her back to unconsciousness, neither can Dr Kalonia.

Jyn hates being sedated, so she says quickly: “I’m going to take a nap.”

Dr Kalonia looks relieved. “Good,” she says. “Take all the time you need.”

 

***

 

The second time Jyn wakes up it’s to less screaming pain and more screaming out loud.

“Jyn!” she hears, and then there’s hands on her face, patting her gently, and another holding her hand. She clutches the hand instinctively, the one point of warmth in her dreams of falling, of molten horizons that rush towards her, of watching her friends die, over and over again.

“Jyn wake up!”

Her eyes snap open, and Bodhi’s face swims into view. There’s something wet on her cheeks, and she realises with a flush that she had been crying in her sleep.

Bodhi doesn’t point it out, though. Instead he says, “Jyn”, again, in a tone of relief and takes his hand away from her face to grapple for some tissues in the bedside cabinet. Taking one out, he hands it to her and watches without comment as she clumsily wipes her face and blows her nose noisily.

“I heard you screaming,” he says simply, one of her hands still loosely curled in his. Jyn thinks about how he was raised to be an Imperial soldier, to hate all things Rebellion, and how he holds her hand so gently between his hands that twitch with nervous energy, and she tightens her hand in his minutely.

“Bad dream,” she mumbles, and knows he understands if the way he twitches is any indication.

“Me too,” he says quietly. “There was - with Saw -- and, there's always -- I can't -" he breaks off, and Jyn kind of hates Saw for his willingness to sacrifice the few for the many. Bodhi whispers: "And -- I - I keep thinking about all the soldiers I saw, being shot, and falling down around me. In the end -” He gulps, but continues on. “In the end, some of them covered me so I could get the comms up.”

“What were their names?” she asks. She wonders if he knows, they’d only really known each other for a day at most.

“Taidu Sefla,” he says. “Rodma Maddel. Stordan Tonc. Q’wert Porzo.”

“Galen Erso,” she says. “Lyra Erso.”

“Unda Vert.”

“Saw Gerrera.”

“Rani Hume.”

“Dor Gru -” and then suddenly Jyn’s crying again, great sobs, and Bodhi cries with her.

They sit in the infirmary and let the tears come, united in the grief of losing people: comrades, friends, family, over and over again.

“I-” Bodhi hiccups a little. “I hate the war.” “Me too.” Bodhi grabs another tissue and swipes at the tears on his cheeks. “I just - I hate fighting, but I can’t imagine not being on the front-lines doing _something_ ,” he says, and kriff, that’s precisely the sum of it, isn’t it?

“If we weren't here,” she tells him. “We wouldn’t be us. This war is part of us. I think we’ll always be trying to protect the galaxy from some disaster.”

“Why does it hurt so much, then?” he asks, and suddenly she can see his youth. He could only be as old herself.

“It hurts because that’s how we mourn,” Jyn says, with the sort of philosophical pragmatism she never subscribed to before, well, everything. “And I guess we have to mourn, otherwise what do we fight for?”

Bodhi looks thoughtful at that, then rueful when he realises there are tissues scattered all over the bed. “Don’t worry about it,” she tells him, helping him gather it all up and deposit it in the bins provided by every bed.

When they’re finished, he hovers uncertainly by her side. Jyn doesn’t particularly relish the idea of going back to sleep and facing her battles alone, either. “The bed is big enough for us to lie side by side,” she says. He looks relieved.

“Thanks,” he says. “I -”

“Didn’t want to go back to sleep alone?” she finishes for him, and he nods.

That night they fall asleep, back-to-back, and don’t wake til morning.

 

***

 

In the morning Dr Kalonia declares them both ready to be discharged. She had walked into Jyn’s ward, barely batted an eye at the sight of her and Bodhi lying on the bed military style, and issued them their discharge papers and uniforms. They change swiftly and then, papers in hand, go to find the others.

An overworked Twi’lek nurse directs them to Cassian’s bacta tank with a flap of his fingers.

“Cassian,” she breathes once she sees him, floating strangely in the liquid with a breathing mask over his face. She can see mottled bruising all along his side, still unhealed even after a week in the tank, but then again a week ago she had seen him fall and hadn’t allowed herself to calculate the probability of death.

Bodhi hangs back, but she seems him looking strangely lost as he takes in Cassian’s unnaturally still body. When she asks him about it, he shakes his head.

“Whenever I talked to him,” Bodhi says, “he was always so confident. And nice. And now, he’s in bacta tank and he looks like - like -”

 _like he’s dead_ hangs in the air between them, unspoken. Jyn takes one last look at Cassian, at the dark shadows spread over his skin like war leaving its possessive fingerprints.

“He’s going to be okay,” she says with a confidence her odds don’t allow for. There’s a heavy feeling on her sternum when she breathes that she ignores.

They go see Chirrut and Baze next, only to find Baze already awake in his bed beside Chirrut’s bacta tank.

“For all his sass,” Baze snorts, “He’s actually quite the fragile being. But don’t tell him I said that. He’d challenge me to spar and then we’d both be back in the medbay.”

“I was informed that your average recovery times would require at least one more day,” a familiar voice says from the doorway, and they all whirl around.

“K-2SO!” Jyn says.

“Jyn Erso,” K-2SO says. “Bodhi Rook, Chirrut Imwe, Baze Malbus.”

Jyn rolls her eyes. “Glad to see you’re fine.”

“Your concern for my wellbeing is, as always, touching,” K-2 snarks back. “Where is Cassian?”

Bodhi answers. “Still in the bacta tank,” he says. “It’s -- taking awhile for him to recover.”

K-2 looks concerned, which - Jyn isn’t quite sure how he manages it. “Cassian usually recovers quite quickly,” he tells them. “On average, his standard recovery time is 20.4 per cent lower than that of the estimations made by the medical staff.”

Jyn feels a chill steal over her sternum. “So does that mean,” she says carefully, “that there’s something -- wrong with him?”

“No,” K-2 says simply. “It means he is taking a longer time than usual. He will be fine.”

Great. Jyn’s being comforted by a droid. Still though, she’s in a room with essentially every being she cares anything about right now (with the notable exception of one person), and Jyn thinks she can let herself feel something remotely like hope.

“The Death Star plans were successfully transmitted to the Rebellion,” K-2 states, apparently in response to one of Bodhi’s questions. “Princess Leia received the plans, but was subsequently captured by Imperial forces. However, she has since been rescued, and the Death Star has been destroyed.”

Baze whoops, and Bodhi cheers a little. Jyn stares at K-2SO, unsure of what she’s hearing. The plans had gone missing? Then found again? The Death Star destroyed?

“K-2SO,” another voice says, yet again from the doorway, and Jyn turns around to see a lady dressed all in white.

“Your highness,” K-2 says, in a tone he hardly even uses for Cassian. Jyn can see why.

“I’m Leia Organa,” the woman says, walking forward and offering a handshake to Jyn, then Bodhi, and Baze. To K-2SO she gives a wry look.

“Leia Organa - like the princess - and senator?” Bodhi says, no small measure of awe in his voice.

Leia - Princess Organa inclines her head. “Sometimes for the latter,” she says. “And no longer for the former. Alderaan was destroyed by the Death Star.” She says it in a matter-of-fact tone, almost emotionlessly, but Jyn knows better.

It's tone she hears from her own mouth, after all.

“You completed our mission, your Highness,” Jyn says, deciding that she can stand to show some respect for this woman, rather than the outright disdain she usually offers figures of authority.

“Just Leia, please,” Organa says. “And I believe the mission was only made possible by your squadron’s efforts. The galaxy owes you all a great debt.”

That’s a novel thought. Jyn’s never been one for keeping tallies, but she thinks that between her mother’s death, her _father’s_ death, Saw’s death, and all the other countless people she’s had to cradle on their deathbeds, the galaxy owes her a tad bit more than just a great debt.

When she glances at Bodhi and Baze, she can see them thinking the same thing.

“So this debt,” Jyn says. “Tell us more about it.”

 

***

 

The debt, or its payment, turns out to be in the form of a huge kriffing gold medal that’s the size of Jyn’s palm. It lies heavily against her chest, a dull weight, and she can’t help but think that Cassian would hate all of this - the accolades, the praise, and especially the medal.

Cassian, who is still in the bacta tank, three weeks after Scarif. Jyn hates the twisting feeling in her gut whenever Dr Kalonia comes out of Cassian’s room looking more worried than she had going in.

Jyn tries to focus on the ceremony. Beside her Bodhi stands, alternating between staring at his feet and at some point on the far wall of the great hall they’re in. Baze and Chirrut complete their motley line, spending most of the ceremony whispering about something or other. On her other side she can see the pilot who apparently made the final shot to destroy the Death Star, and some smuggler who had supposedly been integral to making sure they hadn’t killed themselves in the process of being heroic.

The highlight of the ceremony is when she catches the eye of Senator Von Yano at one point, who looks apoplectic at the sight of multiple convicted criminals standing up on the podium.

“Hm,” says the smuggler beside her. She turns to see - Solo, was it? - hefting his own medal in his hand thoughtfully.

Solo sees her looking and grins. “I reckon I could get a nice sum on the market for this one,” he tells her conversationally, as if they’re not standing in front of galaxy with senators giving speeches that mention things like _great sacrifice_ and _selfless deeds_ and _heroes_.

Jyn shrugs. “Depends on which outpost you go to, I guess. I hear Jakku’s good at this time of the year.”

Solo looks at her askance. “That junkyard?”

“It is a junkyard,” Jyn admits. “But they have a high demand for precious metals. It’s got a lot of electrical development facilities.”

Bodhi joins in at this point, fingers turning over the medal in his hands. “Wait,” he says. “Jakku?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s an _Imperial outpost_ , Jyn,” he hisses.

There’s an awkward moment of silence while a senator drones on in the background.

“Well,” Solo says finally, eyeing the “Saviour of the Galaxy” titled on the medal. “I guess that’s out.”

 

***

 

When Jyn finally gets back to Cassian’s tank after the ceremony, she’s tired and on the edge from shaking the hands of senators eager to congratulate the squadron who helped save the galaxy. She’s pathetically glad that Cassian’s rank and, well, popularity amongst the Rebellion have afforded him a private room in the infirmary.

“You would never believe what a bantha shit-show that was,” she sighs, dropping into a chair beside him, datapad in her lap. Since waking up she’s had the time and luxury of rediscovering her love of reading for the sake of reading. Luckily the Rebellion has no shortage in all manner of books, and she’s whiled away many an hour soaking up information of all sorts.

She buries her hands in the pockets of her jacket, and her fingers hit something cold and smooth.

“Oh yeah, and this,” she says, drawing out the medal and draping it over a table. “Saviour of the Galaxy, Cassian. I even got asked for an autograph by this one ensign.”

She _had_ , the Twi’lek nervously twitching their lekku as they asked, sorry for the disruption, if Lieutenant Erso wouldn’t mind signing this datapad, and that Lieutenant Erso and the other members of the Rogue One squadron were xie’s role models.

More than slightly dumbstruck, Jyn had signed.

“I don’t get it,” Jyn mumbles, propping her hands under her face as she gazes at Cassian in his healing trance. “Maybe you would know, having actually, you know, done something about the Empire, but you were right. I don’t really do things for the cause. Or any cause, really.”

It is strangely calming to sit here and talk to Cassian, even though he isn’t actually, well, awake to hear her or anything. Jyn has to wait through another week of bacta before she’s officially allowed to start fretting, or so Dr Kalonia says.

“You know,” she tells him. “I still don’t know why your words are on my skin. Nobody else seems to have them. I guess it doesn’t really matter. There’s a 73 per cent chance you don’t care. It’s fine.”

And she sits there reading in silence, listening to Cassian breathe through the respiratory mask until she falls asleep.

 

***

 

“For someone so small, you’re very heavy.”

“Kriff off,” Jyn mumbles automatically, before her head snaps up and she almost falls off her chair in shock. She swears.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Cassian says, sitting up in his bed and looking whole, and healthy, and refreshingly alive.

“Cassian,” she breathes, before scrambling up to take his face in her palms. “Kriff, they said you’d take another week at least!” Cassian puts one of his hands over hers.

“Fast healer,” he tells her. “Plus I don’t think I was _that_ injured.”

She thinks of Dr Kalonia listing off Cassian’s injuries.

“You’re right,” Jyn says. “You were probably more injured.”

He opens his mouth, presumably to make another joke or brush off the fact that he very nearly died, but frowns after getting a good look at her face. “Hey,” he says instead. “Hey, I’m here. I’m alright.”

Her throat feels tight. “You really weren’t before.”

“Injuries happen,” he says. “Trust me, this isn’t the worst I’ve had.” He pauses, thoughtfully. “Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.”

That gets a slight laugh from her. She feels raw from crying all the time, like an exposed nerve that hasn’t healed properly. “Aren’t you supposed to be charming?”

“I can’t always be charming, I have to shoot people, too, you know,” Cassian says, but he says it so seriously that she has no choice but to laugh some more.

“What’s all this racket?” Cassian looks to Dr Kalonia, who has just walked into the room. “Jyn here is unconvinced of my well being.”

Dr Kalonia snorts. “ _I’m_ not convinced of your wellbeing, either,” she says, before turning to Jyn. “And you! How did you get back in here? How many times do I need to kick you out of my infirmary?”

Jyn likes Medical Lieutenant Kalonia, or Dr Kalonia, who had gone from mild awe and respect for Jyn to fond exasperation in the span of one week. “You should upgrade your security, ma’am,” Jyn replies cheekily. “Your droids aren’t as loyal as you think they are.”

“Oh you bet I will,” the other woman says darkly, but it has teasing undertones so Jyn isn’t too concerned.

She sits quietly as Dr Kalonia runs Cassian through some tests, checking his flexibility and breathing as the doctor makes notes on her datapad. Finally, Dr Kalonia sets aside her datapad with a sigh.

“Well, Captain Andor,” she says, “you certainly are incredibly lucky. As always.”

Cassian nudges Jyn. “Told you,” he says. “Fast healer.”

Jyn nudges him back. Hard. (But not too hard, because she’s trying this thing where she does no harm as recommended by _Discovering You! How to a Better Being in Fifty Steps_. Or less harm. It’s a work in progress.)

Dr Kalonia watches them with a strange expression. “I’d like to keep you overnight for observation, Captain. But you should be free to go in the morning.”

“Thank you, doctor,” he replies, and Dr Kalonia gathers up her equipment and goes with the same level of fanfare she had entered, leaving Jyn alone with Cassian again.

They’re silent for a moment, before Cassian says, softly: “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Jyn sits back down, propping her elbows on his bed. Don’t apologise, she thinks of saying, before deciding that it would encourage his self-sacrificing MO. “I was worried, yes,” Jyn finally admits. “In the databank tower. On the beach. The last few weeks. But - and don’t take this for granted - I’ll give you a free pass this time.”

Some of the tenseness around his eyes relax, as if the prospect of her being angry with him had ever been a real concern. “That’s good,” he murmurs, his hand finding hers and she adjusts her grip so she can feel his pulse, steady and 100 per cent real beneath her fingertips.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do, now?” he asks, after a while.

She hums a little. “I won’t be idle, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Cassian shakes his head. “You couldn’t be idle if you tried,” he says. “No, there’s a lot of options here for you - Lieutenant,” he adds, gently tugging at her patch.

Jyn looks down at the circle on her jacket. “It was a posthumous promotion.” She has no idea why she’s telling him, but he’s always had this way of tugging out her thoughts before she was aware of it. “I don’t really know if they even want me here.”

“Of course they do,” Cassian says loyally. “You’re a great shot, a great fighter, and a natural leader.” He says all of this earnestly, and completely unaware of the inconvenient effect he’s having on her heart.

“I don’t know,” Jyn says. “Maybe I’ll stay here, maybe I’ll leave for a bit, travel - hey, what’s wrong?”

Cassian’s contented expression has tensed slightly. “Leave?” he asks. “You’re going to go?”

“I - maybe?” she replies, uncertain of the source for his distress. “I’ll probably stick around for a while, so don’t start worrying yet, hotshot. You’ll pull your stitches.”

“I don’t have any stitches,” Cassian says automatically, but the worry in his eyes fades a little anyway. “How about this, then? You could always shadow me for a while, see if anything appeals to you.”

That sounds - like a pretty good idea, actually, and Jyn says as much. “I think Bodhi’s joining the pilots,” she adds.

“He should be happy with them,” Cassian replies. “They’re a good lot, won’t give him a rough time for his past. And he’s a Lieutenant, too. They’ll respect that.”

“He...is,” she says. “Wait, how do you know?” He puts one hand to his bedside table and pulls out a datapad that he shows her. “Been reading up while you were snoring on my legs.”

She flushes. “I don’t snore,” she says indignantly, and pretends to huff in anger while he laughs.

“I don’t know what Baze and Chirrut are doing,” she says, once he’s stopped laughing. “I think they’re planning on staying as self-defence instructors or something.”

“Isn’t Skywalker on base?” Cassian asks. “Chirrut would be happy about that.”

“Overjoyed,” she remarks, remembering the way Chirrut’s face had lit up the first time Skywalker and ignited his light saber around him. “I think he’d room with Skywalker if he wasn’t already rooming with Baze.”

“Where are you and Bodhi rooming, then?”

Technically she and Bodhi have separate rooms, but Jyn thinks about the first few sleepless nights when Bodhi had come to find her, or she had gone to find Bodhi, or they had met in the middle, wandering through the base corridors. Sometimes they had wound up in front of Cassian’s tank, not talking. Other times they had gone to Baze and Chirrut, sleeping back-to-back on the ground of their room. Most nights they had just continued to circle through the corridors, talking softly about little things, silly questions like _green or orange_ , or b _antha shit pie or mynock shit pie_ , or not so silly questions like _did you ever think about what you’d do if you survived all this shit?_

But recently these nights have tapered off, and Bodhi seems to be sleeping much more steadily, more often through the whole night than half of it. A lot of has to do with the therapist he's finally been convinced to see, and although she can’t quite say she’s disappointed that Bodhi’s finally getting the sleep he needs, it has meant is that most nights she spends in Cassian’s medroom, reading until she falls asleep from exhaustion.

“Bodhi’s got his own room,” she says finally. “He’s good.”

“And you?”

“I have a room, too.”

“You don’t seem to use it very often.”

She shrugs. “Got things to do, places to see.”

She isn’t sure if he believes her, but he nods anyway. “I see.”

And then he’s pulling her up into a sort of hug and they don’t speak for a while.

 

***

 

Captain Cassian Andor, she realises, earned his stripes through and through.

The first day she spends tailing him they go to the base hangar.

“You fly?” she asks him as they turn into the wide open space with pilots in orange jumpsuits and their astromech droids milling about the grounded aircraft, waving to Bodhi who’s huddled with the other U-Wing pilots over some specs. She thinks about the way Cassian guided the U-Wing through the debris clouds in Jedha’s final moments, his whoop of joy when they’d made the jump to hyperspace just in the nick of time.

He shrugs. “Here and there.” At her expectant look, he adds, “X-Wings, mostly. I usually take the U-Wings now, though. Less conspicuous for my line of work.”

“Don’t listen to him,” a voice says, and they turn to see a pilot with a blue patterned helmet under their arm. “Captain Andor was one of our best fighter pilots until Rebel Intel snatched him up.”

“Lieutenant Antilles,” Cassian says. If he’s embarrassed he doesn’t show it. “You’re just the pilot I wanted. Good to see you’re back in the air.”

“Ah, you know me.” Antilles waves the hand not holding the helmet. “Nothing’s gonna keep me away - you’re out of medbay rather fast yourself, aren’t you?”

Cassian cracks a smile. “You know me, always out to break my medbay record.”

Antilles shakes his head. “Better you than me, Captain,” he says. “I never got how you did it. One moment you’d be getting your leg reset, and two weeks later you’d be flying dogfights like nothing’d happened.”

Jyn narrows her eyes at this but Cassian is unfazed. “Nothing but good luck,” he says briskly, before changing subjects. “Lieutenant Antilles, I’d like you to meet Lieutenant Jyn Erso. She’s one of our new recruits.”

She shakes Antilles’ hand, and he smiles at her. “I know you,” he says. “You’re part of Rogue One, right? Got the plans to the Death Star? It’s an honour to meet you.” He says all this with a level of sincerity Jyn still isn’t sure how to deal with, so she nods at him and hopes that’s enough.

Thankfully Cassian steps in then. “Lieutenant Erso will be with me for a little while,” he tells Antilles. “Just until she figures out what sector she’s suited for.”

Antilles grins. “Pilots have all the fun,” he confides to Jyn in a stage-whisper. “Don’t join Intel - you won’t get to fly, plus you have to do these tedious reports. Pilots only have to write a few incidence reports.”

“And if I remember correctly, you didn’t do those either, Wedge,” Cassian says wryly. “I usually did them for you.”

Antilles - Wedge ? - slings an arm around Cassian. “That’s why you were my favourite pilot.”

“Then as your favourite pilot, I was hoping you could do me a small favour.” Cassian pats Wedge on the chest. “A demonstration of the X-Wing, perhaps?”

Wedge snorts. “You want a demonstration for the Lieutenant? Do it yourself. No -” he says when Cassian opens his mouth, presumably to protest. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you were one of our best, and you know it. If you want to show the best of being a pilot, I really think nobody’s more qualified than you.”

“Wedge, come on,” Cassian starts, but Wedge cuts him off by shouting: “Hey everyone! Andor’s giving us a show!”

“Andor?” A female pilot looks over from where’s she’s working on her X-Wing. “Kriff, what are we waiting for, let’s get him up in the air. Here, use Zal’s. Mine still needs repairs.”

Another pilot, presumably Zal, nods in agreement. “Time’s a-wasting,” she tells Cassian, who’s beginning to look a little hunted. “Chop chop.”

“Everyone, I really don’t think -” he tries, but is immediately shouted down by the pilots who have begun to gather around. He glances a little helplessly over at Jyn, looking betrayed when she just makes some shooing motions.

“I’m intrigued,” she admits. “I had no idea you were a star pilot before.”

He rolls his eyes. “It was a temporary thing,” he says. “I did ten, eleven missions at most.”

“See,” Wedge says, reappearing at Cassian’s side. “You say that, but you forget to mention that the missions you flew also happened to be the some of the most dangerous we’ve had on record. Hutt space, Imperial space, Imperial controlled Hutt space, you flew it.”

Cassian sighs, taking in the multitude of pilots waiting. From the corner of Jyn’s eyes she can see Bodhi heading over with his new squadron. “Fine,” he says, amidst a raucous cheer. “But only for five minutes.”

“Yeah, we’ll see if you can bring yourself down after only five minutes,” Wedge tells him, leading him to Zal’s X-Wing, already prepped and fuelled.

“What’s going on?” Bodhi asks Jyn, when he reaches her side. “Why’s Cassian in an X-Wing? And everyone cheering?”

Jyn snorts. “He was some kind of hotshot pilot before he became a hotshot intel agent, apparently,” she replies. “He wanted another pilot to give me a flight demonstration, but then got browbeaten into doing it himself.”

Bodhi frowns. “Cassian never lets himself get browbeaten into anything.”

Jyn looks thoughtfully over to where Cassian is running pre-flight checks and the pilots are backing away for his takeoff. “You’re right,” she says, and that’s when Cassian takes off.

She hadn’t known what to expect, when Wedge and the other pilots had all but dragged Cassian to the X-Wing and strapped him in. “You were one of our best ,” Wedge had said, but with no frame of reference she hadn’t quite appreciated the gravity of the compliment.

Cassian’s X-Wing soars in the air like he was born to fly it, looping elaborate figure-8s and graceful spirals. Jyn had flown a freighter shuttle once, and while it had been serviceable it hadn’t been anything like this. This was flying for the heck of it, flying because you _could_ , flying like gravity was just a guideline and the stars and moons were your terrain. She could easily imagine him dodging blaster fire in dogfights, weaving in between other craft to reach his target, just as she could imagine him taking up an X-Wing just to fly, like he is now.

After one last swooping revolution in the air, Cassian finally brings the X-Wing down. Jyn and Bodhi are swept forward with the rest of the crowd as Cassian jumps down from the X-Wing.

“Five minutes,” he says, smirking a little as he tosses the helmet to Wedge. “Seriously?” Wedge grouses. “You and rules, I swear.”

“You didn’t say that when I wrote your reports for you,” Cassian reminds him, but he pats the other pilot on the shoulder consolingly before turning to the rest of the crowd. “Alright, everyone, show’s over.”

With a grumble they start drifting off back to what they were doing, and Cassian walks to where Jyn’s waiting with Bodhi.

“Convinced that the Rebel navy is for you?” he asks. “Bodhi - what did you think?”

Bodhi grins. “That was great,” he says, bouncing a little. “I didn’t know you could fly like that.”

“It’s been a long time.” Cassian rubs the back of his head in an uncharacteristically bashful gesture. “Can’t say it wasn’t fun, though.”

“I’m impressed,” Jyn says, once Bodhi has bade them farewell and jogged back to his squadron.

“Enough to go for the pilot’s life?”

“Maybe.” She leans against a ladder, watching him as he looks out across the hangar. “You set a high standard.”

He looks startled. “It’s not -”

“Cassian,” she says, and he stops. “I know. I was kidding.”

“Oh,” he gives her a half-smile. “That’s good, then.”

“I’ll think about the Rebel navy,” she promises him, pressing her shoulder into his, a quick, burning point of contact. “What else did you have planned for today?”

“I guess Intel HQ. That’s where I’m normally based.”

“And where I got interrogated?” she asks drily as he leads them back through the hangar doors and into the corridors.

He looks vaguely guilty. “Yes. Being fair, it wasn’t much of an interrogation, though.”

“I could tell.”

“You could?”

“Yeah,” Jyn says. “If you’d really hauled me there for interrogation, I have a feeling I wouldn’t feel so charitable right now.” Then she thinks about what she just said and immediately wants to kick herself. “I mean-”

“It’s okay.” Cassian bumps his shoulder into hers. “It’s sort of true, after all.”

“What’s ‘sort of true’?” Cassian freezes and they turn around to see K-2SO staring accusingly at them. “Kay,” he says with - nervousness?

K2 continues. “Like the fact that you decided to do some fancy aerobatics in an X-Wing _the day_ after you’re released from medbay?”

Cassian is perfectly capably of defending himself, she knows, but Jyn feels compelled to say something. “I asked him to,” she says, stepping up so that she's shoulder to shoulder with Cassian but feeling distinctly like she’s thrown herself into the line of fire when K2 turns his unblinking stare to her.

“I can’t leave you two for one minute,” he sniffs, clearly unimpressed. “It’s truly a wonder that human beings live to the age they do.”

“Calm down, Kay,” Cassian says. “It was only for five minutes, and look - I’m fine.” He holds his arms out, as if for K2’s inspection.

“Remarkable,” K2 says. “Your heartrate is elevated by 10 beats per minute, and you appear to -”

“ _Alright_ ,” Cassian interrupts. “You’ve made your point clear. Abundantly so.”

Jyn stares. “His heartrate’s elevated?” She turns to Cassian. “What’s wrong? Why’s your heart rate going up?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, glaring at K2 of all things. Probably for revealing that he wasn’t feeling nearly as well as he had been claiming to be, Jyn thinks uncharitably, and decides that she likes K2 that much more.

“If you aren’t feeling well, we should go back to the infirmary,” she tells him firmly. “I can help Bodhi out for the day, or go see Chirrut and Baze.”

Cassian looks down at her. “Jyn, I promise if I need to go to the infirmary, I’ll be the first to say so. I’m fine right now.”

“He’s not fine actually,” K2 cuts in. “He’s currently experiencing abnormal hormonal levels, specifically-”

“Kay,” Cassian says quellingly, and K2 miraculously falls silent. “Jyn and I were going to go to HQ. You can either come along and be quiet about my vital stats, or you can go keep C-3PO company.”

Jyn’s never seen a droid look so torn. “I shall go see C-3PO,” he finally declares. “I understand that you and Lieutenant Erso would likely want to engage in what human beings refer to ‘alone time’.”

Jyn thinks she hears a strangled groan, but when she turns to Cassian he looks perfectly impassive as usual. “That’s fine, Kay,” he says. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“I will report in at 1800,” K2 agrees, and then he’s off, presumably to find C-3PO and snark about the oddities of human beings together.

Cassian turns to Jyn with a sigh. “Sorry about that,” he says, a little sheepishly. “Kay sometimes gets very concerned about me. About, well, everything.”

Jyn snorts. “K2 seems like he’s your parental unit. You reprogrammed him pretty thoroughly.”

Cassian shrugs as they continue walking to HQ. “Not really. A lot of his fussiness was already a behavioural trait programmed in because security droids need to be very thorough when they patrol. I just reset the parameters.”

“I...see,” Jyn says, although she doesn’t quite see because she, for one, has never dealt with an Imperial droid by reprogramming it.

Eventually they reach HQ, which is still the dimly lit, cavernous room she remembers. As soon as the doors slide shut behind them, Cassian makes a beeline for a set of computers set up near the centre, and begins bringing up data sets while Jyn hovers by the doors.

“I’m surprised you’re still here,” a voice sneers, and she turns to see Senator Von Yano.

She opens her mouth to make a scathing remark, perhaps something about not being a coward, when Cassian reappears by her side. “Senator.” “Captain Andor,” Von Yano replies, sounding almost polite. Miracles never ceased, clearly. Cassian inclines his head. “Senator, allow me to introduce Lieutenant Erso.”

“We’ve met,” Jyn says, remembering that Cassian had slipped away long before the beginnings of a truly epic throwdown between her and the senator had begun.

“Ah,” Cassian says, not nonplussed in the slightest. “My apologies, then. It was a pleasure to speak to you again, Senator. I’m afraid Lieutenant Erso and I have urgent business to attend to.”

“Carry on, then,” Von Yano says, turning away to leave but not before he shoots one last look of loathing at Jyn. Cassian catches the tail end of the glare and turns to Jyn with a silent question.

“We had some minor disagreements,” she says by way of explanation. “Don't worry about it.”

He doesn't look convinced, but drops it anyway, leading her to his station. “This is where I do most of my administrative work,” he says, sweeping a hand to indicate the row of terminals and databanks.

She eyes the stack of datapads on one of the consoles. “Looks riveting.”

“Riveting it is not,” Cassian admits. “But someone had to organise the leads for our Intel agents, and once you're out in the field there's more than enough action to make up for the quiet periods.”

“So is that why you gave up being a pilot?”

“Partly, yes.”

“Partly?” Jyn raises an eyebrow. “What’s the other part?”

“Oh, you know,” Cassian says, suddenly very interested in the data sets on his console. “Intel suited me better. They had plenty of pilots, but not a lot of intelligence agents.”

Jyn’s curiosity is piqued, but -

 _Don’t be a nerfherder_ , she thinks. Instead she says, “Urgent business?”

“What?”

“Back with Von Yano,” she clarifies. “You said we had urgent business.”

“Oh that,” says Cassian. “Well, technically speaking, we all have rather urgent business these days.”

She looks at him. He busies himself with his console some more. “Cassian,” Jyn says carefully. “Did you lie to Von Yano?”

Cassian looks perfectly impassive, which is always a bad sign. “You seemed uncomfortable,” he finally says. “Thought I should probably try to intervene.”

Jyn cycles through several responses, then discards them. “Well, was there anything you wanted to do here? You seem to have a lot of work waiting.”

“I do have a few reports waiting for me,” he agrees, eyeing the datapad stack as well. “Actually - how much do you know about Imperial encryptions?”

 

***

 

The answer turns out to be ‘quite a lot, actually’.

“- and that’s how to break down the Murano cypher,” Jyn concludes. “It’s ironic that the Empire are using pre-Clone Wars encryption tech, and even more ironic that it’s _working_.”

“Uhm, Lieutenant Erso?” Jyn turns around to see a young Keshian ensign nervously holding out a datapad. “Yes?” Jyn replies, scowling when Cassian returns her bemused look with an amused “go on” motion.

“I was wondering if you could help me with deciphering this code,” the ensign says. “I - I couldn’t help but hear you talk about the Murano code. I’m having trouble finding the key.”

Jyn takes the proffered datapad, scanning the code. “You need to find the secondary pattern,” she tells them. “Try looking at old Imperial codes, like the ones TIE fighters used. I can see you’ve already found the trecta note, though, so well done - uh - Ensign…”

“Arana, Lieutenant!” Ensign Arana says, taking back the datapad with a beam. “Thank you, ma’am!”

“You’re...welcome?” Jyn tries, but thinks she couldn’t have been too far off when Arana grins again and bounces off. “These kids,” she sighs, turning to Cassian. “So much energy.”

“That kid is twenty cycles old,” Cassian informs her. “Are you calling yourself a kid as well?”

Jyn scowls at him some more. “You know, I think we need to go back to medbay. There’s definitely something wrong with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Oh, there is.” Jyn smirks. “It’s called your personality.”

Cassian rolls his eyes. “Very funny,” he says. “Are you going to be our one-being entertainment group?”

“No, and I don’t think I’m going for Intel, either,” she tells him, honestly. “I like cyphers, but I don’t think I’d be good with the sitting and planning part.”

He doesn’t look too crushed by the revelation, which is a relief. “I’m not surprised,” he admits, restacking the datapads on his console before shooting her a mischievous grin. “You have a bit too much -”

“Don’t say it,” she growls, and Cassian laughs.

 

***

 

Having firmly ruled out Rebel Intel, they wind up outside the infantry barracks after the noon meal.

“This is where the ground troops usually train,” he tells her as they make their way towards the large open area behind the barracks. “There’s a section for target practice, unarmed combat, armed combat -”

“Hey, Cassian!” They turn just as a tall, dark-skinned human male comes jogging over to them.

“Kes,” Cassian says, and Jyn stares as he greets the other man with a hug. “Kes, this is Jyn, Jyn Erso. Jyn, meet Kes Dameron.”

Kes shakes her hand enthusiastically. “You getting the two-credit tour of the Rebel grounds?”

Jyn finds herself liking him. “Definitely a tour, not sure about the two credits’ worth.”

Kes throws back his head and laughs, long and loud over Cassian’s huffs. “I like your style, Erso,” he chuckles. “Aw quit your whining Cass, Shara and I make digs at you all the time.”

“That’s exactly why I’m ‘whining’,” Cassian says wryly. “Force save me now that there’s three of you.”

“You wouldn’t change a thing,” Kes tells him confidently, slapping him on the shoulder. “Alright, Cap’n, what’s the reason for your visit today?”

“We’re finding the most suitable sector for Jyn’s skills and abilities,” Cassian says. “Would you run some of the aptitude sims for her?”

“ ‘course,” Kes says easily, leading them through a battered old door and into a surprisingly well-maintained sims room. “Right.” He waves a hand at the seat. “We usually give the recruits the whole battery of tests, but we’ll keep it to the accuracy, reflex, and survival tests for today. Any questions?”

“Just one,” she says, tilting her chin up. “When can I start?”

 

***

 

When Jyn stumbles out of the sims rooms two hours later, she’s dizzy and hungry but glowing with satisfaction. Kes and Cassian are already examining her results on the computer attached to the room.

“Impressive,” Kes comments, tossing her a bottle of water that she gratefully cracks open. “Really impressive, actually. You’re definitely suited for the Pathfinders, Lieutenant.”

Jyn doesn’t answer for a moment, more concerned with downing half the bottle.

“Pathfinders?” she asks, once the inside of her mouth no longer feels like she’s swallowed Jedha.

“An elite section of the Rebellion army,” Cassian tells her. “It actually does seem like a very good sector for you.”

Jyn considers it. “Do I have to fill in reports?”

Kes laughs and slaps Cassian on the back. “No reports,” he promises. “I won’t lie, that alone probably makes it infinitely better than Intel.”

“Rebel Intelligence is important,” Cassian says, wearily like they’d worn this argument into the ground years ago. “And I’m good at Intelligence.”

“Yeah, but you were a better pilot,” Kes says.

Cassian sighs. “Kes, we’ve talked about -”

“Yeah, yeah. Duty and responsibility and all.” Kes fixes Cassian with an inscrutable look, before turning to Jyn. “Alright Lieutenant, what’s the verdict? You in or out?”

“In,” Jyn says automatically, before she’s fully weighed the options. Her mind was still on the thought of Cassian and his short time with the pilots.

“Very well.” Cassian nods a silent thanks at Kes before giving Jyn a half-smile. “Sergeant Dameron will give you your introduction to the Pathfinder squadron.”

“See you for the night meal?” Jyn asks Cassian.

“As usual,” he agrees, the corner of his mouth ticking up, before turning and heading back to the main command centre.

Kes rubs his hands. “Alright,” he says gleefully. “You’re gonna love it with the Pathfinders.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got way too long. Also, we are officially in canon-divergence territory, gentle readers. If that is not your cup of tea, please consider hitting the back button :)

“Planning on finally eating the Rebellion out of house and home today?”

Jyn makes a rude gesture without looking up. The breakfast gruel is thin and particularly un-flavoursome this morning but she downs her spoonful religiously before replying. “Unlike you, I actually have to train. Run around. Not, you know, sit around all day at my cushy little desk.” 

“And whose fault is that?” Cassian points out, settling in comfortably with his own tray of morning glop. “Join Intel, I said. Not the Pathfinders, I said. You’ll have to train.  _ All the time _ . And did you listen to me?  _ No _ .” 

Jyn makes another gesture, ruder and more well-known this time, and hears a shocked gasp, and when she looks up it’s to see one of the littler ensigns standing there, purple skin flushed a deep indigo. Great.

“Yes?” Jyn asks mildly. “Ensign…?”

“Garcia!” squeaks Ensign Garcia, cycling through various shades of purple and settling on a washed-out lilac. 

“Are you alright?” Jyn says solicitously, dubiously wondering if the approximately sixty per cent chance of fainting will come to pass. 

Ensign Garcia nods rapidly. “Yes, sir!” xie says quickly, gesturing wildly: “Thank you, sir! I’ll take my leave now, sir!” before turning on xie’s heel and booking it out the push-doors. 

“You’re--welcome?” Jyn stares forlornly at the swinging canteen doors. “Well. That was weird.”

Cassian snorts into his bowl. “Garcia’s from Ioalax,” he says. At Jyn’s blank stare, he elaborates. “They’re very big on hand gestures.” 

Jyn thinks, then thinks again. “Oh.”  _ Well _ . “Should I -- apologise?” 

Cassian gives her an exaggerated look of shock. “You. Apologise. Do you even --” He cuts himself off suddenly, stricken. 

“You were about to ask if I knew how to apologise, weren’t you,” Jyn says, spooning up another mouthful blandly, watching Cassian squirm and open his mouth, presumably to apologise. “Oh for - stop that. It was a joke. Right? We’re all good. Hi guys,” she adds. 

“That was a very emotionally charged conversation,” Chirrut remarks, sliding into the seat next to her. Baze sits next to him, leaving Bodhi to claim the seat beside Cassian, immediately launching into a discussion of evasive manoeuvres for the Constellar class freights. 

Jyn ignores them in favour of narrowing her eyes at Chirrut.  “What emotionally charged conversation?” 

“Baze,” Chirrut says, instead of answering. “Does our little sister look like she’s about to hit something with her baton?” 

Jyn switches her glare over to Baze, who snorts. “No,” he says, which elevates him to new favourite friend non-minion in Jyn’s heart. Of course, he then promptly loses the title when he adds: “Why would Jyn bother with the baton, when there’s a perfectly functional blaster on her hip?”

And Baze and Chirrut both start chuckling, like two old retirees out on the stoop of their retirement home on Coruscant. 

Crossing her arms, Jyn favours them both with a  _ how-old-are-we-again _ scowl. “You laugh now,” she says fatalistically. “We’ll see who’s laughing when Dameron finally hands over the new set of stun-blasters.”

“Jyn,” Cassian chides, having finished expounding on the finer points of the Hermann manoeuvres over the Rowet ones and apparently catching the tail-end of Jyn’s threat. 

“What?” Jyn mutters. Cassian doesn’t blink. “Fine --  _ sorry _ , I didn’t mean it.” 

_ Whipped _ , Bodhi mouths at her, safely across the table. 

_ Stun-gun _ , Jyn mouths back, then smiles hugely, making sure to show all her teeth. 

Still got it, she thinks smugly when Bodhi turns gratifyingly pale, before quickly schooling her face when Cassian looks back and forth between curiously. 

“What was all that?” he asks, despite finding nothing on their faces - Bodhi has a pretty good deadpan expression, she’ll admit. 

“Nothing,” they chorus, and -- okay, Bodhi can be her new favourite non-minion. For now. 

 

***

 

Jyn’s days consist of three things now: sleeping, training, and eating. On good days, she gets to add a fourth - reading. On the bad, she barely has time to complete the third. 

Today’s shaping up to be one of the latter types. The wet season on Yavin 4 is absolutely treacherous, blue skies one moment and lukewarm water bucketing down next, as if the deities of the sky were involved in a seasonal high-stakes poker match with the sanity of those below as chips. 

“Keep moving!” Dameron yells at them as they struggle over Stage 3 of the obstacle course. Jyn thinks she’d happily stun him with the stun-gun he’d given her just yesterday, if only he was near enough and she wasn’t about to expire ignominiously with mud in all her orifices. 

“Erso!” he yells again, noticing her slip on a peg and falter. “Are you gonna let the whole team down?”

Biting back several scathing replies, Jyn reaches for the next peg and very determinedly does not calculate the probability of her slipping. Working with Intel was starting to look incredibly attractive, but she'd admit that precisely never because Cassian would stop gloating around about the time heppabores flew on their volition. 

Maybe she’d just slip and fall right off this wall into the mud. There was a 80, 90 per cent chance Cassian would come to drag her ass home. Maybe.  

But she doesn’t slip, and Dameron  _ does _ continue hollering at them for all his worth as drill sergeant until they all stand at the end of the course in a straggly line, dripping wet and generously slathered in mud. 

“Good work, soldiers!” he barks, back perfectly straight and feet shoulder width apart. He eyes them all sternly for a beat longer, all Sergeant Dameron, before lapsing back into  _ Kes _ so quickly Jyn gets whiplash. “Alright folks!” he says cheerfully. “Go take a shower and get some rest - y’all stink.” 

Kes practically bounces up to her as the rest of the Pathfinders move off, grumbling under their breaths. 

“That was great!” Kes says, holding up his hand for a high-five. “Wasn’t that fun?” 

“Yeah. A real party.”

Kes beams. “Wasn’t it?”

Jyn high-fives his face. 

 

***

 

“Jyn, why did Kes say tha-  _ oh Fest what happened to you _ .” 

Jyn doesn’t look up from where she’s face-planted into her bed, having barely managed to shower off the mud and get into clean clothes before her limbs gave out. She’s been silently willing herself to just mold into the bed and be done with all this for the past half hour, to no avail. 

“You know,” she says, into the pillow instead. “When you introduced me to Kes I thought he was a nice guy. A kind guy.  _ Heart of gold _ , and all that crap.”

Cassian comes to sit opposite her on his bed, tentatively closing the door behind him. “Er,” he says cautiously. “Is he not -- a nice guy?” 

“Kes is,” Jyn mutters nonsensically. “It’s  _ Dameron _ who’s the problem. Everything hurts,” she adds, a little pathetically and possibly whining. 

To his credit, Cassian doesn’t laugh. Instead, there’s a sigh, and then the rustling of clothes before the mattress under Jyn is dipping. A moment later, there’s a warm hand on her shoulder. 

“Want a massage?” 

“Hrmph?” Jyn says. “Wussat?” 

“A massage,” Cassian repeats patiently - which, well, he can do whatever he likes as long as he doesn’t try to chisel her off this bed. 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” she moans ten minutes later, as clever fingers work at a knot at the back of her neck. This was it. Nothing could ever feel as good as this. 

“Uh,” someone says from the doorway. “Did I come at a bad time?” 

“Go away, Bodhi,” Cassian says, voice a little strangled, which makes Jyn struggle to get a good look at his face and him to gently help her turn over. 

“Geez,” Bodhi says, not going away. “If you wanted privacy you could’ve just  _ said _ so. I’d never get in the way of  _ true _ -”

“ _ Bodhi _ .”

“Friendship,” Bodhi finishes smoothly over Cassian, voice laden with some hidden meaning. “True  _ friendship _ .” 

Jyn rolls over to bury her face in a pillow again, storing Bodhi’s words away for analysis. Later. For now, though… “Bodhi,” she says feelingly. “So help me, if you don’t scram -” 

“Going,” Bodhi blurts, and she hears the door slide shut not two seconds later. 

“Kriffing hell,” she mutters to Cassian. “Where does the kid get the energy from. Where.” 

“I don’t know - uhm.” Cassian stands up abruptly, not looking at her. “I need to - meeting.” 

Jyn raises an eyebrow. “You need to ‘meeting’?” 

“I have a meeting,” Cassian clarifies, hastily pulling on his boots and tying the laces with two efficient tugs. 

“Alright,” Jyn says, cautiously watching him move around. “See you for dinner then?” 

Cassian stops at the doorway, turning back to give her a rare smile. “Dinner,” he agrees, and then the door slides shut and Jyn is left sitting on her bed wondering what the hell just happened. 

 

***

 

Some days Jyn has training to look forward to. 

Other days, she has “spiritual awareness” classes.  

Chirrut had come up with the idea around three drinks into their weekly booze night, held unofficially in Jyn and Cassian’s room (which had been co-opted into this mess by virtue of being the biggest) every Primeday after dinner. 

“So,” Chirrut said rather ominously. They took it in turns to source the alcohol - today was Bodhi’s turn, which meant that the booze was appropriately paint-peeling, the kind of moonshine brewed in the non-regulation-but-beneficial-for-morale hangar still, half-heartedly hidden by its custodians, the pilots, under a sad piece of tarp. 

“So?” Baze repeated, with an understandable level of trepidation. Traditionally, Chirrut saying “so” in  _ that _ tone was hazardous to peoples’ health. Historically Baze. And, more recently, Cassian, Jyn, and Bodhi. 

“ _ So _ ,” Chirrut said again. “We should start classes. For the Rebellion.”

K-2SO, who was their ‘designated driver’, piped up. “What kind of classes?”

Chirrut waved his glass around, somehow managing to not spill a drop. “Spiritual awareness classes!” 

“Spiritual awareness?” If K-2SO had a nose, it would have been wrinkled. “What on earth would they do?”

“Uh,” Jyn said. “I’m with K2 on this one.”

“Thank you, Jyn. That was very kind of you to support me.”

“The point is,” Cassian broke in, sounding rather hazy. “ The point is, we need to be, uh, more aware of our spiritual side. And such.” 

There was a moment of contemplative silence, the kind only the deeply inebriated could manage. 

“That makes sense,” Bodhi said, resurfacing from his quest to get shitfaced in the shortest time possible from beside Jyn. “ ‘s important.” 

“ _ Unbelievable _ ,” Baze muttered. “We survive all that nonsense for you to -- teach people about spirituality. Can’t we take a break?” 

“No time like the present,” Chirrut told him, smiling beatifically, before adding: “Nothing quite like a near-death experience to reawaken the connection to the Force.” 

There was another moment of silence, this time a tad bit more sober, as everyone absorbed this. It probably said something about them, Jyn thought muzzily, that they could survive Scarif and come out more or less unscathed. There was the occasional nightmare, to be fair; Bodhi still came looking for her some nights, and other nights she and Cassian would spend the night playing some obscure version of Corellian poker, and then there were nights everyone was awake and somehow congregated in Jyn and Cassian’s room where they’d sit around bitching about the Empire’s insanity and also the standard of food in the base cafeteria.

It wasn’t perfect. It’d never be perfect. 

But they would be okay, she thought. And that was good enough. 

“I wish I had these classes before Scarif,” Bodhi said, a little gloomily. “I was  _ not _ ready for Scarif.” 

“Could anyone be ready for Scarif, though,” murmured Cassian. He sounds almost philosophical, which is a sure sign that he’s hit the limit. 

“Spiritual training helps you awaken your awareness of the Force,” Chirrut lectured, despite the fact that he was secretly shitfaced five ways to Beduday. “With the Force, you will be a faster fighter, a more accurate pilot, and a more resilient being. We all could’ve benefitted from that on Scarif.”

“I agree,” Jyn said. “There’s about a 49 per cent chance things would’ve gone better if we’d had that kind of training.”

Bodhi groaned. “Jyn. Not the time for the stats.” 

“Jyn’s calculations are fairly accurate,” K-2SO announced, before sharing a look of consternation with Jyn at having agreed with one another twice in an evening. 

“Urgh. You’re such a nerd.”

“Better than being a  _ turd _ ,” Jyn had sniped back, and the evening had gone rapidly downhill at that point. 

They’d all forgotten about the Spiritual Awareness classes - or at least, Jyn had - until the following Taungsday morning when the hammering on their door sent Jyn careening off her pallet and into a defensive stance. 

Or at least, she thinks glumly as she lies in a tangled heap on the ground. That had been the plan.

“What  _ happened _ to you,” Cassian demands, rolling over in his own bed to stare down at her. 

“What do  _ you think _ happened?” Jyn retorts. “I’m just having a nice nap on the ground -- no, I fell off, you idiot!” 

“If you’re done with your little lovers’ tiff,” Chirrut calls through the door, effectively cutting off whatever Cassian had been opening his mouth to say. “We have classes. You’re coming.”

_ Lovers _ , Cassian mouths soundlessly, looking vaguely horrified - and, well,  _ fine _ , Jyn thinks. See if she cares if Cassian thinks being in love with her is so terrible that the mere thought of it makes his olive skin go that . 

“Alright, keep your pants on,” Jyn hollers back. “We’re coming.”

“She better not mean they’re  _ com _ -” she thinks Bodhi says, before grunting like Chirrut’s pointy elbow had just found a home in his guts. 

Jyn rolls her eyes, systematically dressing. Hair in bun. Combat pants. Combat shirt. Belt. Boots. Across from her, she can see Cassian doing the same. 

“ _ Alright _ ,” Jyn says, throwing open the door when they’re done. “This better be good, we’re up before six on our day off.” 

“Married,” Bodhi mutters, before shutting up when Baze calmly puts him in a headlock. “Alright, alright, lemme go Baze.”

“Shut your hole, then,” Baze says, letting go. 

“What’s the class we’re doing?” Cassian asks, seemingly not hearing Bodhi’s comment, or not caring. “Is it the Spiritual Awareness one, then? Did Mothma approve it, finally?”

Chirrut slings an arm around Cassian’s shoulders. “Yes - and we owe you many thanks for that, certainly. Your word likely changed her mind.” 

Jyn narrows her eyes. “Cassian. You  _ didn’t _ .” 

“Didn’t what?” Bodhi says, watching their conversation avidly. 

“Didn’t convince Mothma to approve Chirrut and Baze’s terrible idea.”

“That’s not very nice,” Chirrut says, smile winsome in the dewy pre-dawn light. “We’ve had many people sign up.”

Jyn huffs. “Then hold ‘em without us there. Or -- just me. Cassian can jolly well go, if he helped get the damn thing afloat.” 

“If Jyn’s not going, I’m not going,” Bodhi says quickly, and Jyn nods at him in solidarity. 

“Oh for -” Baze growls, making them all fall silent. “We’re  _ all _ going. Move it.” 

Everybody moves it, not willing to risk Baze’s wrath. Soon, they pour into the training room apparently booked on Taungsday mornings for these classes, which Chirrut lovingly continues to call Spiritual Awareness classes, but are rapidly becoming “Please Let Me Go Back To Sleep Now” sessions for Jyn. 

“Lieutenant Erso!” Jyn turns around just in time to see Ensign Arana bouncing towards her with barely concealed awe on their face. “I didn’t know you were going to be a part of these, too.” 

“Funny how that sort of thing happens,” Jyn says mildly, eyeing Cassian as he bustles off, presumably to do Captain-ly things. “How’s Intel going?” 

“Great!” Arana says brightly, and Jyn spends the next ten minutes being regaled by tales of the numerous codes they’ve broken since Jyn’s advice on Murano cyphers. Ensign Arana is not the worst storyteller Jyn’s ever encountered and makes up for any unpolished flair with sheer enthusiasm, and soon Chirrut is clapping his hands and ordering them to spread out so that they have ‘enough swinging space, no Jyn -- that’s the exit, are you the blind one, or am I?’

“Very well,” Chirrut says, once the room has settled down into some semblance of order. Beside him, K-2SO stands at the room controls looking like the world’s snarkiest DJ. On the other side is Baze, who quietens down the room simply by folding his arms and adopting a neutral expression. 

“I wonder what they have up their sleeve,” Cassian murmurs, slipping into a space beside Jyn. The glare she has for him falls away when she spies the small amused uptilt of his lips, and instead she looks away, heart thudding strangely like she’s about to have a heart failure - except, there’s a 0.001% risk of that occurring. 

Up at the front, Chirrut is explaining something about the Force. “- with awareness of the Force, you will be better able to protect yourself and your comrades,” he says earnestly. Jyn looks to the right and sees various beings nodding very seriously. Looks the left. More serious nodding. Jyn looks back to the front and folds her arms. 

Chirrut is still talking: “--for the next half hour, please spar In pairs - try to feel each out one another’s movements.” On some unseen signal, the room begins to bustle again and Cassian turns to her. 

“Sparring partner?” he asks. 

“Huh?” She sees Bodhi pairing off with a sturdily built Dorellian and looking rather nervous as he sinks into the classic fighting stance. “Oh. Right. That. Yeah sure,” she finally says to Cassian’s expectant look, mostly without thinking. Which was, in hindsight, a monumental mistake on her part. 

“How are you so bad at this?” Jyn asks, fifteen minutes and three takedowns later. 

Beneath her, Cassian’s chest heaves as he struggles to re-inflate his lungs. Taking pity on him, Jyn shifts so that her weight isn’t right on his cage. “Intel agents,” he says, after a few deep breathes. “If we need to start throwing people around, that’s a sign we’re in trouble.” 

“So shouldn’t you learn how to fight? So you can get  _ out _ of trouble?”

Even flat on the ground and drenched in sweat, Cassian’s raised eyebrow speaks volumes. “Jyn. If an intel agent is in trouble, that means we’re going to die. Fighting skills, or no fighting skills.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jyn dismisses, abruptly feeling very cold. “That’s -- no. Not on my watch.”

Cassian eyes her. “You’re not always going to be watching my back, though. Pathfinders don’t usually get deployed with Intel.” 

“Sunny attitude like that, no wonder everyone gets blinded by your face,” Jyn jokes, shifting a little on Cassian’s torso and suddenly realising the position they’re in. Namely, her straddling Cassian on the ground. 

Face flaming, she scrambles off Cassian, stretching out to help him up. “Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to train you up in this Spiritual Awareness classes.” 

“You seem like you’re training well together,” Chirrut says, appearing beside them with K2 following in his wake. He leans in conspiratorially, voice low: “How do you think the class is going?” 

“It’s going great, Chirrut,” Cassian assures him, subtly elbowing Jyn in the ribs when she opens her mouth. “People really like it.”

“Really?” Chirrut brightens even more, if that’s even possible. “I hope so.”

He wanders off after a few more words but K2 lingers for a moment, eyeing Cassian narrowly. “Cassian,” he intones. 

“Yes, Kay?”

“Your heart levels are elevated again.”

“That’s normal,” Cassian says, the tips of his ears flushing oddly. “I’ve been sparring. You should follow Chirrut. He’s good at sensing any stray blows, but he might miss one or two, and then Baze will have our heads.” 

There’s an exchange of meaningful looks that Jyn can’t decipher, and then K2 says, almost gleefully: “You mean  _ your _ heads. My head is bolted on using titanium rods. I’d like to see him try to get my head off.”

“Don’t challenge him,” Jyn advises, earning herself a vaguely amiable nod before K2 ambles off, presumably to impart more of his morbid wisdom to unsuspecting Rebellion folk. “Well, that was  _ really _ weird.”

Cassian’s ears are still flushed, and Jyn has to stop herself from reaching out to touch, to see if there’d be the same warmth from back on the beach on Scarif. “K2 is a bit weird.”

“Weirder than normal,” Jyn amends, clasping her hands behind her back and pointedly thinking non-ear thoughts. 

“Yes, well,” Cassian starts, presumably about to defend K2’s non-existent honour. He’s cut off by Chirrut clapping his hands and calling for a break.

“Well done,” he says, beaming at them all benevolently. “It’s good to see you all getting in touch with yourselves and each other,” he adds, which Jyn thinks is pretty nice of him until she catches sight of his sly grin. 

_ Asshole _ . 

 

***

 

And then, of course, Cassian’s first mission comes about two months after he’s been cleared for normal duties.

Jyn doesn’t mope around Base. She doesn’t, because her schedule doesn’t intersect with Cassian’s very often, and it wasn’t like she  _ missed _ him or anything, anyway.

“Whoa, someone’s upping the training,” Bodhi says through a mouthful of what looks like Corellian tuber mash. Jyn starts to make a face at the lovely tableau, before Bodhi’s statement properly registers. 

“Oh,” she says. It was Primeday, which meant that Cassian would be meeting her and Bodhi for lunch in the canteen, and she’d get him a tray without any Corellian mash because he was allergic to the stuff. Except --

“I forgot Cassian wasn’t here,” she finally says, a little lamely. All of a sudden the food she’d heaped on her tray didn’t look nearly as appealing, and there was an odd little chill over her sternum. 

Bodhi eyes her. “Here, don’t worry about taking back the tray,” he says. “I’ll take it to Luke, he likes the sprouts.”

“Luke?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool. His flying is amazing. And his lightsaber’s pretty great, too.”

Jyn takes in the subtle darkening of Bodhi’s cheeks. “Oh, his  _ lightsaber’s  _ great, is it?” she teases, relishing in the fact that it was her doing the gentle ribbing for once. 

“Shut up,” Bodhi huffs, sweeping out of his chair. His brow furrows when Jyn, laughing, pushes the tray over the table to him. “Jyn.”

“Yeah?”

Bodhi fiddles with the straps of his flight suit. “Are you -- well, are you alright?”

Jyn stares at him, nonplussed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He doesn’t look at her. “Well,” he hedges. “You know, it’s been a few days since Cassian left…”

The pieces click into place. “Do you think I’m moping after Cassian?” Jyn says, mildly irritated, yet also touched by his concern. “Bodhi. I’m fine. I can actually function without Cassian, you know.”

Still visibly unsure, yet clearly letting it go for now, Bodhi nods and brightens. “Alright,” he says, picking up the tray. “That’s good to hear. See you for dinner?”

“Yeah -- have fun with Luke.” Jyn cackles internally at the way Bodhi gives her a betrayed look. 

Jyn finishes her meal in the silence left behind by Bodhi. She doesn’t eat a lot of tuber mash either, these days, out of deference for Cassian’s rather spectacular allergic reactions to the stuff. After all, they share a room, and Jyn has this awful habit of using his toothbrush sometimes (they look the same, come on, Cass), and Cassian can’t always be counted on to be fully alert right after waking. 

There was a light touch at her elbow. 

“Excuse me, Sergeant Erso,” the little cleaning droid says. Kes had named them Clean-E, and the poor thing had been stuck with the moniker “Cleaney” ever since. “Have you completed your noon meal?” 

Jyn looks down at her plate, which has mostly gone cold. “Right,” she says, then shakes herself. “I mean, yeah, I’m done. Thanks.” 

She watches as Cleaney trundles off, their wheels squeaking against the ground. 

“Right,” she says again into the silence that settles across her shoulders. She absently rubs at the cold patch of skin on her sternum. “Time to do something.” 

 

***

 

The next three days pass the same way: excruciatingly slowly and dully. 

“Jyn,” Bodhi says, sometime during the third afternoon. There’s a manual for the new generation of X-Wing fighters loosely held in one hand. In the other, there’s a tin of lukewarm water that he looks like he sorely wishes he could throw at Jyn without paying dearly for it. 

“What,” Jyn says, not stopping her frantic scribbling. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here, if you haven’t noticed.”

Bodhi audibly grumbles. “I have noticed! That’s why I’m here. You think I like having to ambush you in your dorm?” 

“Yes?” Jyn hazards, still pointedly not looking at him. “Is there a point to this? I’m trying to disprove Holden’s strategy right now.” 

She’s forced to stop writing when her datapad is yanked away from her. “Hey,” she protests, making a swipe for it - but there’s no use. Bodhi’s taller than her, and also holding it above his head for all he’s worth. 

“This --is what --i’m  _ talking about _ ,” he gets out, in between dodging her lunges for the datapad. “You can’t keep going around and disproving people’s strategies. You’re making them cry!”

“So?” Jyn shoots back unrepentantly. “Most of them cry because they hate the fact a human female’s smarter than them.”

“What about Holden?” Bodhi tosses the datapad between hands. “He’s nice.”

Jyn considers this for a second. “He’s--alright,” she admits, reluctantly. “Fine, I won’t be too harsh. Just point out some flaws. They could get our soldiers killed.”

“It’s literally a milk run,” Bodhi points out, but he hands her back the datapad anyway. “Jyn, seriously -”

“Bodhi,” Jyn says, mimicking his “exasperated parent” tone perfectly and earning herself a scowl, as she’d expected.

Bodhi elbows her, and they tussle, not seriously or anything, until she gets him in a gentle headlock.

“Alright, seriously,” Bodhi says, once she’s let him go and they’re nursing minor bruises. “You need to stop this.” 

Jyn pokes at a slowly darkening bruise on her left cheekbone using a small hand mirror Bodhi scrounged up from somewhere. “Stop what?”

“This -” Bodhi waves his hands vaguely. “Thing you’re doing. It’s like you’re fucking with people for the sake of fucking with them.”

“I’m helping improve our strategies,” Jyn says defensively. “I can’t help it if everyone else is too dumb to see it.”

“That’s really, really not the point,” Bodhi sighs. “Jyn, c’mon, you gotta see the point here. How long’s it been since Cassian went on his mission?”

Jyn pauses before replying: “Three”, like she hadn’t been counting the days like a hungry being would count their days like their last full meal. Which was, she thinks privately, a rather apt comparison and all the more disturbing for it. 

Bodhi isn’t fooled. “Did you calculate how long you’d have to wait before replying to appear more socially acceptable,” he says, deadpan. When Jyn glares at him, he holds his hands up. “Well, I mean, you know there’s a term we give for what you’re doing right now-”

“Die,” Jyn says.

“-it’s called pining-”

“Die in a fire.”

“-and while it’s kind of funny watching you be so gone over someone at first, it’s getting a bit concerning. Also,” Bodhi adds, unconcerned by her threats. He prods at some of his own bruises a little cautiously. “You don’t want me to die. You love me.”

“I don’t love you,” Jyn lies, sliding a pack of alcohol wipes over to him. “And no! I’m not  _ gone _ over him, jeez Bodhi. Have you been watching Skywalker’s romance holos?” 

Bodhi blanches. “Who told you about them?”

“You did.” Jyn grins at Bodhi’s dawning look of horror. “Just then.” 

“...and you said you  _ wouldn’t _ fit in with Intel?” 

“No,” Jyn corrects. “I said I hated paperwork, and Cassian said half of Intel was paperwork. Hence, Pathfinders.”

“You really would’ve done well in Intel,” Bodhi mutters mutinously, but his glare softens when Jyn reaches over and tapes a shallow cut he got when he accidentally clipped his hand on the bed frame. “Thanks.”

“The thing is,” Jyn murmurs after a few quiet beats. “I just. There’s not much point in telling him, anyway. We’re at war. I could die any day.  _ He _ could die any day. Statistically speaking, that’s a lot more likely than not.”

Bodhi tilts his head back so that it rests against one of the bed posts. It’s a moment before he speaks, but when he does it’s in a thoughtful voice.

“I was born on Jedha,” he says. “My Ma and Da were both engineers. Ma did chemical engineering, Da did civil engineering. They both wanted to be doctors before--”

“Before?”

“Before the war started, I guess.” Bodhi shrugs. “Thing is, in a war. Being a doctor is a lot less about helping people than it is about helping them die slower. And my parents wanted to help build things. And they both found engineering suitably interesting, I guess. The point, though, is that while, yeah, you grow up in a war, and your dad goes, then your mum goes, then your friends go, and it’s easy to go - yeah, what’s the point.

“But the point is that we fight for a reason, yeah? And I think that even if it’s likely we could all die tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that - then at least the time you’d have spent with us alive would’ve been worth it. Better to have loved - and, yeah, to have lost it too, than to have never loved at all.”

Jyn thinks about this for a while, and it’s possible that Bodhi, worn out by their impromptu wrestling match and the intensely philosophical discussion, had at some point dozed off a little. Jyn would probably be the same way, herself, if she didn’t feel so wired by the revelations. 

“You’re right,” she says, finally, and hears a snore in response. She jabs out an elbow. 

Bodhi jerks awake with a hilarious whistling snorting noise. “Wuzzat? We under attack?” 

“No,” Jyn says. “I was saying - you’re right. I should tell him.”

Bodhi eyes her warily. “What - just like that?”

“Yep.”

“Bullshit, I’ll believe it the first time I catch you two making out in some supply closet.”

“Okay,” Jyn says. “Firstly, your lack of faith in my determination is inspiring, truly - thanks,” she adds, when Bodhi mocks a half-bow. “Secondly, you really need to stop watching Skywalker’s holos, they’re a bad influence.”

“I didn’t get that from his holos, though,” Bodhi says, then abruptly cuts himself off, his dark skin flushing. 

“Bodhi?” she cackles, gleefully tackling him when he makes a bid for the door. “I’m gonna tell Chirrut & Baze. And K2!”

“No, gerroff-” he splutters, flailing inelegantly, before letting himself flop back onto the ground. “Fine, okay, alright - we might have, possibly, fooled around a bit-”

“A lot?”

“- _ a bit _ , maybe in a supply closet once, twice -”

“Wow,” Jyn says, abruptly releasing him. “I am never going into another supply closet  _ again _ .”

 

***

 

Bodhi had a point, though, and Jyn realises this. 

The last three days of Cassian’s six-day mission pass easily as Jyn attacks her training with renewed vigour, and manages to finish off another four lengthy texts on kyber crystal manipulation for increased energy efficiency. Between running drills and her readings and meals with the others, she hardly has the time to think about the conversation she’ll have to have with Cassian, or the fact that the chill on her skin has gotten so bad that she huddles with a hot-water bottle when she sleeps. 

When he finally comes back, she’s sitting around Chirrut and Baze’s room, debating the unique properties of kyber crystal with K2 while Chirrut referees and Baze cleans his weapons. They all look up as Bodhi comes skidding in and out of breath, evidently having sprinted all the way from the hangar bay. 

“He’s back!” he says excitedly, once he’s stopped panting enough. “Cassian’s ship just came in!”

“Does he look alright?” K2 asks, already moving to the doorway. “I knew he should’ve taken me along-”

“I didn’t get a clear look at him, but he seems alright.” Jyn follows as they all troop out the door and begin half-speed walking, half-jogging. “He also seems pretty happy, so I’m guessing it went alright,” he adds, just as they’re turning into hangar, but Jyn barely hears him as she spots a familiar lanky figure standing beside a beat-up, innocuous freighter. 

“Cassian,” she breathes, speeding up to a sprint just as Cassian begins to turn around. 

Later on, she’ll think back to this moment and likely feel rather acute embarrassment. But that could wait for now, because Cassian was here, and he was alive and healthy and well, and Jyn suddenly felt warm for the first time in six days as she barrels down the hangar to where he stands. 

“Uh,” she says, rather lamely, as she skids to a stop in front of him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Cassian replies, an amused tilt to his lips. “I’m back.” 

“I didn’t notice,” Jyn snarks, but it’s half-hearted. She wonders if he can hear the rapid pace of her heartbeat. “What, with this great big rust-bucket - is it even space worthy?” 

“I don’t know,” Cassian teases. “I mean, a bit dubious with the warp drive, but she brought me back in one piece so I’m calling this a winner.”

“Right,” Jyn says, mostly on autopilot.  _ Say it! _ , a voice says.  _ Ignoring the problem makes it worse _ . It sounds distressingly like an unholy mixture of Bodhi and what she remembers of her father’s voice from happier times. She takes a deep breath, suppresses the warning signals blaring out from her hindbrain, and opens her mouth. 

“Cassian,” she says.

“Yes?”

“I - uh. That is -- would you-”

“CASS!” Bodhi exclaims, tackling Cassian from behind, causing him to stagger and almost topple over. “Good to see you back, Jyn was getting grey hairs-”

“I was not,” Jyn says, indignantly. Bodhi catches her eye, and she watches as the muscles in his face slacken with realisation. 

_ Sorry _ , his expression says.  

_ You owe me half a dessert _ , says her expression. It’s very complicated, but he obviously gets it if the way he grimaces yet inclines his head in deference is any indicator. 

“You have come home safe, Cassian,” Chirrut says by way of greeting, joining them with Baze. K2 clomps up after them. 

“I have,” Cassian says, smiling at them all. He steps up to K2, who begins scanning him for any injuries despite Cassian’s vociferous claims that he’s  _ fine, Kay, put that scanner away for the love of - _

Moment lost, Jyn thinks. Which is alright - there would be other moments, she’d just have to seize the moment…

 

***

 

Jyn does not seize any of said moments. 

 

***

 

They celebrate Not-Dying-On-Scarif six months after Cassian wakes up. 

All the survivors from their squadron have crammed into the makeshift bar one of the Lieutenants down from engineering had set up. According to Cassian the bar had never been officially sanctioned by High Command, but after several incidents involving half the Rebellion’s admirals and twenty bottles of Rylothian ale, a detente had been reached.

“Rebellion personnel are allowed to spend off-shift hours there in downtime,” Cassian had explained as they made their way through the crowd. “It’s expected that we all report to our shifts without any hangovers to reduce performance.”

And Jyn had pondered this, and had absolutely not said: “What if you just report in while still drunk, then?”

(She had. Cassian had stared at her and said, aghast: “What?”

“You said ‘no hangovers’,” Jyn had pointed out very reasonably. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be drunk.”

“You can’t -” Cassian had started indignantly, before deflating. “Please don’t do your shifts while drunk, Jyn.”

She hadn’t actually planned on doing that, but the thought of horrifying Cassian’s sensibilities (which were hilariously prim, at times) made it rather appealing. “I’ll try not to,” she’d told him, and the unconvinced glower she had gotten had been completely deserved.)

Jyn is well on her way to horrifying those sensibilities, now. Half an hour in, Cassian had been tugged away by a group of pilots, leaving her to nurse a series of increasingly alcoholic drinks by the bar. 

“Corellian rum?” 

She turns to see Chirrut sliding onto the stool beside her, Baze hovering nearby. She isn’t sure where Bodhi is. 

“Only the best alcohol to celebrate not dying,” she tells him, saluting a little unsteadily with her glass. She estimates that with another two drinks she’ll be singing old ballads on a tabletop, and resolves to stop with the next drink. 

“We are all dying constantly,” Chirrut informs her, and Baze snorts. “It is a fact of life.”

“Gee,” says Jyn. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Chirrut inclines his head. “Of course, this means that one should always be drinking the best alcohol to celebrate not dying,” he says - which, actually does sound pretty good.

“Huh.” She sips her rum. “I’ll tell Cassian you said that.”

“And where is the good Captain Andor tonight?”

She waves vaguely over at the crowd of orange suited pilots, rum slopping onto the ground, before an idea strikes her. “Chirrut,” she whispers urgently, despite the chatter of the bar crowds. “Chirrut, I need to ask you something. You know a lot about the Force, right?”

“I do,” he takes a sip of his own dubiously coloured drink. “You ask because of the words, yes?”

She leans back slightly. “How do you - oh, the Force. Right. Well. I’ve had them for years. Still don’t know why they’re there.” She lifts up her glass, only to find it empty. She peers at it in confusion - she could’ve sworn it had been full the last time she’d checked. 

“They were the first words the captain said to you,” Chirrut says, and, okay, that’s a little uncanny from a non-Jedi. She opens her mouth to say so, but Chirrut pats her on the shoulder, and says: “The Force moves in mysterious ways. Have faith. All will be well.”

Jyn collapses back against the bartop. “So that’s it? Trust the Force? Have faith? Don’t think about why I woke up one day with a tattoo across my chest?”

Chirrut beams. “Now you are learning,” he says cheerfully, knocking back the rest of his drink and reaching out to swipe Baze’s. “Now, little sister, you must drink. You are falling behind.”

“Oh no,” says a voice, and Jyn wobbles a little as she spins to see Cassian standing behind them. The room suddenly seems lighter, like as if the intensity of the lighting strips had been increased.

“Cassian!” she says brightly. “Where did you go?”

Cassian stares at her, before the corner of his mouth ticks up. “I had to go talk to some of the pilots,” he says. “Just how many drinks have you had?”

Jyn gazes down mournfully at her still 100 per cent empty glass. “Not enough,” she confides. “Come drink with us!”

“Oh kriff,” she thinks she hears Cassian mutter, before he’s gently easing the glass from her hand. Louder he says: “Might be a good time to think about turning in. It’s late.”

Sleep does seem like a very appealing option, actually. “Okay,” Jyn says, and distantly notes the way Cassian’s mouth has gone slack by her easy acquiesce. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the night meal, Chirrut, Baze?” 

They both nod their agreements, Baze looking distinctly amused as he leans forward to whisper something into Chirrut’s ear. 

And then Cassian is there, helping her weave through the bar, returning greetings and nods. 

“I didn’t take you for someone who couldn’t hold their liquor,” he comments lightly as they walk back to the living quarters. 

“I can hold my liquor,” she argues. “I just -- drank a lot.” 

“Were you  _ planning  _ on going to your shift drunk?” he asks in the tone she has come to dub as “fondly exasperated”. 

“No-o,” Jyn hedges. “Maybe?”

It’s dark, but she doesn’t need the Force to tell her he’s rolling his eyes. “I’ll make sure you get some pain meds in the morning,” he says, using that tone again. “Can’t have you staggering around base while on duty.” 

 

***

 

Jyn wakes up and kind of wishes she hadn’t.

It’s becoming something of an unfortunate trend, she thinks, the waking up only to regret, well, everything. 

“I was beginning to think you’d never wake up,” an amused voice tells her. Jyn cracks open one eye reluctantly to see Cassian leaning over her, dressed in a neatly pressed uniform and fresh as a daisy, the bastard. 

“Kriff off,” she wants to tell him, but when she goes to do just that she says instead, just this side of pitifully: “Painkillers?”

When Cassian hands her a white pill with a glass of water, she almost sobs with relief, pride be damned. “Thanks,” she mumbles, once the raging banthas in her head have subsided. 

“You’re welcome,” Cassian replies, before throwing something into her lap. “Come on, if you hurry we can still make the morning meal.”

She eyes the clean uniform set. “That better be the one without the holes,” she grouses, groping around to take out the band holding her hair in its bun before swiftly redoing it. When there’s no answer, she looks up to see Cassian gazing at her strangely. “What?”

“Uh,” he says. “You should really get going if you want a morning meal.”

“Alright, alright,” she says, trying to not stagger too much as she ducks into the refresher. When she comes out, she finds Cassian staring out the window, lost in thought.

“You going to admire the view, or are we getting food?” she teases, but falters when he turns to her, expression serious. “Hey, you’ve been a bit off this morning, Captain.”

She thinks she can see him consider lying, deflecting, brushing off her concerns. Eventually he says: “How much do you remember of last night?”

The almost non-sequitor takes her by surprise. “We were at the bar?” she offers. “Then we walked back, and -” she trails off, probing her memory. There’s a suspicious gap between leaving the bar and her waking up this morning. She tries to ignore the worry that begins to gather in her stomach. “Did something go wrong?”

He looks startled. “What? No, nothing went wrong. I was just thinking that you might’ve drunk a little too much.” 

Jyn eyes him. He doesn’t appear to be lying but then -

_ Professional liar _ , her mind supplies.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “I trust you.”

 

***

 

“I trust you,” she tells Cassian, and she does. It’s just -

Well, it’s complicated.

When the words had first appeared across her chest - neat, dark letters that always had a slight curl at the ends of the l’s - she had been eleven and well on her way to cynicism. She’d stared in the mirror, and read the words, read them again, and realised they weren’t even in Basic.

Something to ponder for another day, then. 

(Distantly, at the back of the mind, she thinks  _ trust the Force _ and it sounds a lot like Mama’s voice had).

She had first met Cassian in a firefight, then on opposite ends of an interrogation table, then again when he came back to get her while Jedha crumbled around them, and again on Scarif as she stood facing a man who had taken her mother, her father, Cassian, and -

Again and again, Cassian had come back, a permanent fixture in her life, as permanent as the words across her sternum. 

“I trust you,” she tells Cassian, and there is no doubt that she does. 

And that, she thinks, is precisely the problem. 

 

***

 

By the time they make it to the mess, the morning meal is well underway. 

She and Cassian hurry to load up trays, before claiming one of the small tables against the mess wall to eat. 

“You got big things to do today?” she asks him, watching him methodically work his way through his very sensible, Rebellion medical approved meal. “More reports?”

Cassian swallows a mouthful of - whatever that was. “Yes,” he says. “But I have a feeling I’m going to be out in the field again soon.” 

Just then an ensign hurries up to them. “Captain Andor, Lieutenant Erso,” xie says breathlessly. “Senator Mothma would like to see you both in HQ as soon as possible.”

Cassian catches her eye and nods. “Understood,” he tells xie, turning back to Jyn as soon as the ensign rushes back out. 

“What do you think it’s for?” Jyn asks, between quick bites of her porridge. “Sounds urgent.”

“Might be a mission,” he muses, eating even faster. They finish, dumping their trays at the cleaning unit and head off to the control room.

It looks the same as it always does, with beings hurrying about conversing with droids in low voices, rows and rows of databanks lit up. 

“Captain,” General Draven says. His eyes slide to Jyn. “Lieutenant.”

“General, Senator,” Cassian replies evenly, saluting. Jyn does the same, albeit a beat slower. “Is there a mission?”

“Yes,” Senator Mothma says, sounding regretful. “We’re sorry to have to send you out so soon after the Death Star, but it’s imperative that we move now, while the Empire is still regrouping.”

For the rest of the debriefing Cassian takes neat notes, asking insightful questions at times. Jyn, sitting beside him and trying not to fidget, feels distinctly out of place. 

“Once you have retrieved the information, return immediately to base.” General Draven hands over a file with their informant’s details. “We have reports from the Outer Rim that the Empire has begun to move its troops to Jakku. Lieutenant Erso, your duty is to shadow Captain Andor and makes sure that he can complete the mission objective.”

“Affirmative,” Jyn and Cassian say. Well, Cassian says it and Jyn nods, and nobody seems to care save for the way Draven’s eyes narrow briefly. 

 

***

 

“Hey, Cassian,” Jyn says after they’re back in their shared quarters, packing their duffles. “Do your missions often go smoothly?”

Cassian packs as meticulously as Jyn packs fast - which is to say, Jyn has been sitting on their shared bunk for the past half hour as Cassian continues to go over the contents of his duffle.    
  
“They usually do,” he says. “But for some reason, when something goes wrong, it’s quite -- serious.”

“Serious,” she teases. “Like, not following one rule in the Rebellion’s Operations manual?” 

“Like, almost causing an intergalactic diplomatic incident,” Cassian replies, because he missed the memo on sarcasm, clearly. He adds, presumably to reassure her, “But this mission should go smoothly.”

Jyn flops back against the sheets. “Sure,” she says. “Smoothly.”

 

***

 

How did that saying go?

Oh yeah, Jyn thinks viciously. Don’t tempt the Force.

 

***

 

Jyn’s very first (sanctioned) mission starts off fairly well.  

“Landing in five,” Cassian tells her.

“Right,” she says, standing up and grabbing her duffle. “Let’s move then.”

The mission is simple, at least on paper. Since the Death Star’s destruction, the Rebellion has had an increase in informants stepping forward. Normally, Cassian had said, he would’ve sent his agents out to vet the informants, making sure that they were the real deal. But more informants means more field work, and Rebel Intel never had a lot of agents to begin with, anyway. 

“So,” Jyn had said when Cassian had finished speaking. “You’ve been sent out to do the dirty work.” 

“Technically speaking, I’ve always done the dirty work,” Cassian had replied, and she had taken a long look at his face, and still hadn’t been sure if he’d been joking or not. 

At any rate, there’s a 23 per cent chance of anything going wrong, so Jyn thinks that this mission could go Very Smoothly Indeed.

This is a mistake. 

With their hoods firmly shadowing their faces, they make their way quietly through the city which hangs on the precipice of war. 

“So where is this informant of ours?” Jyn murmurs to Cassian when they duck into an alleyway to avoid two Stormtroopers. She can feel her heart beating faster, adrenalin rising at the sight of Stormtroopers. “And who are they?”

“A Corellian human male.” Cassian risks a glance out the alley, quickly looking away when another stormtrooper walks by. “We’re supposed to be meeting them under the statue of a wampa eating a mynock.”

Jyn pulls a face that Cassian doesn’t seem to notice as he busies himself checking his blasters - one he stows into his side holster, the under he conceals in his jacket. “Charming.”

He shrugs. “Apparently it’s a very famous story on Jakku. The idea of wampas are mythical here.”

“Because this place is a giant kriffing dustbowl, and wampas are native to ice planets?” 

“Something like that.” Cassian looks up and his eyes soften for a moment. “Jyn. This mission will go fine.”

“I’m not nervous.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up. “I didn’t say you were.”

“You -” Jyn scowls, but it’s half-hearted over the way her heartrate is rising. “Kriff, is this why you went to Intel?” 

His mouth flattens again. “No,” he says, not unkindly. “We need to move. Informant’s probably going to leave soon.”

She follows him as he slides back out into the crowds, immediately adjusting his posture and demeanour to match. “How do you that?” she hisses, hurrying to mimic him. She thinks she can feel the gazes of half the crowd on her back. 

Cassian barely glances at her, busy scanning the plaza with a statue on the far end. If she squints, she thinks she can make out the outline of a jaw. “Do what?” he mutters. 

“Blend in.”

“Practice.” He turns to her and, bizarrely, tugs her into a hug and lowering his head so his lips are almost parallel with her ear. “I see our informant, he’s standing at our two. But there are Stormtroopers patrolling the whole place.”

His breath curls over her ear, and she ignores the warmth that creeps over her sternum. She wonders what the rest of the crowds see - an embracing human couple, clearly unable to contain their blatant displays of emotion even in a bustling plaza crawling with Imperial forces. “Understood,” she murmurs back. “I’ll standby, find a place to keep watch. Comm me with updates.”

He nods and pulls back. For a moment Jyn thinks he’s about to say something, but instead he reaches out to tuck an errant strand behind her ear with bewildering tenderness. “I’ll see you soon,” he says at a normal volume, before disappearing back into the crowd. 

Jyn catches herself gawping after him and goes to find a vantage point, filing away the last ten seconds to be analysed later in the sanctity of her own mind. Finally, she spots a small elevated enclave filled with more stalls. 

“Location found,” she mutters into her comm. “I’m at your six, on the enclave.” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Hey, human! You want to buy something? I offer good deals. Hair combs, hair brushes, hair pins, you name it.”

She turns, if only not paying the wares due attention would draw attention to  _ her _ . A squat, grubby Dorellian stares back up at her, mouth twitching in a close approximation of a smile. Jyn tries not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of unwashed Dorellian. 

“I don’t use a lot of hair products,” Jyn says bluntly. 

“Ahh,” Body Odour says. “Such an aesthetically pleasing human as yourself, surely you would be wanting something to deal with your hair. Why, I’ve sold many a comb to Wookies.”

Jyn tries to imagine a Wookie ever wearing a hair comb. “Must’ve been satisfied customers,” she offers, carefully keeping Cassian and the informant in sight out of the corner of her eyes. “I mean, Wookies.  _ There’s  _ a market.”

Body Odour grins. “Well, I keep telling my partner that. Xie doesn’t believe me when I say that Wookie combs are the next big thing.”

Jyn opens her mouth to reply when static fills her comm. 

“Jyn,” Cassian says urgently. “Stormtroopers. I can pass an identity check but Kellor can’t.” 

Jyn gives Body Odour a polite smile and walks a few steps away. She can see Cassian and the hooded man, presumably Kellor, standing by the wall with Stormtroopers closing in. “I see them. What do you want me to do?”

“Diversion.” Across the plaza, Cassian pretends to fumble with his ID, dropping it in the sand. “Pull up your scarves, and cause some panic in the crowds.”

A diversion. Jyn scans the plaza - a herd of mynocks, a few solitary cylinders of -- hang on. 

With a little smirk, Jyn pulls up her scarves and pulls out her blaster, sights, and fires. 

“What did you do?” Cassian hisses in her ear when half the plaza explodes with a resounding boom. 

“You wanted a diversion.” Jyn holsters her blaster and prepares to wade into the now panicking crowd. “I made a diversion.”

“You and I need to have a long talk about what is and isn’t a diversion,” Cassian mutters. “We need to get out of here.”

“Meet by the craft?”

“Affirmative.”

Jyn bolts for the South gate, but three strides in and she’s stopped by a baton across her chest. She follows the baton to the white plastoid arm and up to the impassive face of a Stormtrooper. With a squadron of Stormtroopers behind them. 

23 per cent chance, Jyn thinks.  _ Kriffing hell _ .

“Halt,” the one with the baton orders. “Show your ID.”

With one eye on the baton, Jyn slowly reaches back to pull out her ID and hand it over. 

“Liana Hallik,” the Stormtrooper reads. “Coruscant citizen.”

“Hey,” says another Stormtrooper. “Liana Hallik. Wasn’t that the name of one of the escaped prisoners on Wobani?”

“I heard about that, too,” interjects a third. “It was a Rebellion operation, right?”

The Stormtrooper with the baton looks up from her ID. “And now you’re here. Miraculously alive.” He unhooks a set of cuffs from his utility belt. “Alright, you’re coming with us.”

“Oh, alright,” Jyn says, casually dropping her hands down to her sides. 

“Arms behind your back.” She waits until the Stormtrooper has walked behind her, before grabbing her blaster and firing. 

“Kriffing  _ hell _ ,” she swears, diving behind a stall to barely miss the volley of blaster shots, wares scattering everywhere. Pleading silent apology to the owner, she kicks the table, sending it flying towards the Stormtroopers as she makes a break for the gate. 

She spots yet another of the pressurised hydrocarbon cylinders nearby, and weighs her options. On the one hand, she’s too close to the cylinder and there’s a 64 per cent chance she’ll die from the explosion. 

On the other, she’ll definitely die if she’s captured.

Jyn fires. 

The explosion sends her spiralling through the air, and she hits the ground with her left shoulder first. Dislocated, she thinks muzzily, staggering to her feet. When she tries to bring up her baton arm, black spots dance at the edges of her vision but it still moves.

Not dislocated, then. She’s almost definitely concussed though.  

“Cassian,” she grits out, into her comms. “Cassian, I need backup here. I don’t think I’m gonna get very far.”

“Where are you?” 

“The Plaza,” she replies, or at least she thinks she does. She leans heavily against a pole, blinking away the black spots. 

“The  _ Plaza _ ?” he says, except - Cassian never sounds so frantic, she thinks. In a more even tone, he continues. “Alright, hold your position. I’m coming for you.”

“Alright,” she mutters, trying to keep her eyes open. She forces herself to walk another few steps to the South gate, pushing the pain down. Slowly, slowly, she thinks. Slowly. 

“Halt!” 

Jyn swears when a pair of white plastoid boots come into her vision. 

“You there,” the voice continues. “Loitering around the explosion site, a squadron of Stormtroopers down - you’re coming with us.”

Unbelievable. Un-kriffing-believable. 

“Look,” she tells the Stormtrooper, while scraping together enough energy for one final burst. “I’m just a seller of wares, my stall just got blown up, cut me slack, maybe?”

“Cut you some  _ slack _ ?” the Stormtrooper snorts. “You’re holding a blaster and a baton, do you really expect us to believe that -” He breaks off, possibly because of the smoking hole in his armour. 

There’s agility on her side, that’s for sure. Stormtrooper armour doesn’t allow for much flexibility or speed in movement, stumbling where Jyn dodges between batons and blaster shots. But there’s five of them and one of her, and Jyn is acutely aware of the way her left arm lags when she takes down one with a hard blow to the head. Another one falls back with a neat shot to its torso, and Jyn wildly allows herself to hope -

Her vision blacks out for a bit when a direct hit lands on her shoulder, and if it wasn’t dislocated before, it sure is now. Jyn staggers with the blow, and oh no, this really, really isn’t good. The Stormtroopers raise their blasters, clearly going for dead, rather than alive, when -

-when they’re flung back against the wall, as if a large invisible hand had brushed them aside. She looks wildly around, eyes landing on Cassian. Cassian, who stands at the North gate. Cassian, with his hand outstretched, eyes frantic and wide with a shock she suspects is mirrored in her own expression. 

The pain in her shoulder is getting unbearable. 

“The hell,” she says, and - rather embarassingly, but also thankfully - passes out.

 

***

 

Jyn wakes up, and decides that this is becoming ridiculous. 

“Water,” she says - or tries to, at least. She isn’t sure what the unholy tangle of sounds she makes must sound like. There’s a rustle by her side, and then gentle hands are helping her sit up and drink from a cup. 

“Jyn,” says Cassian, once she’s drunk enough to wash away the sands of Jedha  _ and  _ Jakku from her mouth. “Dr Kalonia will be here soon. She probably has more painkillers.”

He doesn’t ask her how she feels, because they both know the only truthful answer to that is:  _ like I almost died - again _ .

“You just couldn’t stay away, Lieutenant,” tuts Dr Kalonia as she walks up, datapad in hand as always. 

Jyn clears her throat. “You know me. Always finding ways to get back in here.” She aims for a joke, but it falls slightly flat at the way the line of Cassian’s shoulders tenses. 

“Right,” Dr Kalonia says. “Maybe stick to hijacking my droids, then? I think a dislocated shoulder and a concussion are going a tad bit too far. And. Well. Severe bruising over 30 per cent of your body - just what were you doing, Lieutenant?”

“Being heroic,” Jyn quips. 

“Then go be heroic elsewhere,” Dr Kalonia huffs. “Very well, you’ve already received a bacta treatment. You are, amazingly, able to leave whenever you’re ready. Here are some pain meds - take one a day after your morning meal. Any more than that and you run the risk of addiction.”

“Understood.” Jyn levers herself up, squinting at the way her muscles protest. “Thanks, Doctor. Again.”

“Thank me by staying out of my medbay for longer than a month and a half,” Dr Kalonia snipes, before disappearing past the privacy curtains. Jyn looks at Cassian, who studiously inspects the plain blankets.

“Hey.”

He finally meets her eyes. “Hey,” he replies, in a tone she doesn’t recognise. 

She goes for a smile anyway. “We spend way too much time talking to each other in hospitals, don’t you think?”

He ignores her attempt at a joke (to be fair, it was pretty bad). “You know,” he begins. “When I saw you facing off those Stormtroopers, I’d never -” He pauses. “I’d never felt so desperate,” he finishes at last. 

Jyn thinks of the outstretched hand, the wild, shocked look in his eyes. “Cassian,” she says. “Cassian, did you - the Stormtroopers -” She trails off, not knowing what to say, how to describe the sight of three Stormtroopers lifted by an invisible force and hitting a wall with enough force to knock them unconscious. 

Cassian seems to know, anyway. “I was desperate,” he tells her. “Apparently that’s what I needed. Desperation.”

“So you’re really - what, Force sensitive?” Never, in all the scenarios she had considered, had this even been a factor. 

“Lieutenant Skywalker’s run me through some basic tests. So far he says it’s likely.”  

Jyn frowns. “Didn’t Skywalker just start learning, himself?”

“Yes.”

“So how did he know what tests to use?”

She watches in fascination as a dull flush creeps up his neck. “He didn’t,” Cassian says. “He, ah, mainly just threw a lot of things at me.”

“He did  _ what _ ?” Jyn feels torn between horror and laughter. 

“And told me to just let myself feel the Force,” Cassian agrees. “But - as of yesterday, I finally managed to stop things from hitting my face all the time.” 

Jyn lets herself sink back into the pillows. “That’s...a relief,” she tells the ceiling. “Just how long was I out?”

“Two days.” She turns her head so she can see him, absently noting the line that’s formed between his furrowed brows. 

“Two days is a while,” Jyns says lightly. “Did you let Kes know that I was in medbay?”

“He came to visit, actually.” Cassian waves a hand and she turns a little further to see an accumulation of assorted bric-a-brac on her bedside table. “You’ve had quite a few visitors, actually.”

Jyn doesn’t want to analyse the way her heart feels full, the way her sternum thrums with a warmth she can feel to her toes. “The others come by?”

Cassian gives her an indecipherable look. “Of course,” he says, slowly. “Bodhi just left, actually. I told him he’d better get some sleep or he’d fly into a mountain tomorrow.”

She can’t help but smile at that. “Where’s he going tomorrow?” she asks.

“Scouting mission to Hoth, the Alliance is about to move bases.”

“Hoth?” Jyn groans. “Of all places.”

“Exactly,” Cassian points out. “The Empire thinks that no self-respecting Alliance would willingly move to an ice planet. The chances of them finding us there are minimal.”

 

***

 

Three years later Jyn will think back to this moment and shake her bunkmate awake and say:

_ You have got to stop tempting the Force, for kriff’s sake. _

 

***

 

Force-sensitive Cassian is precisely the same as Cassian without that knowledge. Jyn isn’t sure what she had expected, really. For Cassian to begin bouncing around the Hoth base, bringing an ever-positive glow wherever he went like Skywalker did?

Privately, Jyn thinks, if Cassian ever so much as bounced anywhere she’d be the first to haul him off to medbay. 

A week after Jyn is given another clean bill of health the Rebel Alliance begins moving out to Hoth. The entire process, including settling in, takes about two months - but eventually the icy cold halls of Echo Base gain a sense of familiarity, and routines are taken up once more. 

For Cassian, his routine now consists of daily practice with Skywalker whenever both are on base. Once, Jyn sits in on their practice. It’s the dullest hour she’s ever experienced, and she counts time spent in Imperial prison. 

“Time,” she calls at the hour mark, setting aside  _ A Treatise on Intergalactic Politics _ . Cassian and Skywalker both drop out of their handstands, panting, and she tosses bottles at their heads. 

“Thanks,” Skywalker says as he stops it in midair, grinning brightly. “I think we’re getting closer to using the Force properly.”

(Skywalker always says “we”, like he’s reaching out and physically including Jyn in their training sessions.)

(Jyn still isn’t sure what to make of this moisture farmer turned Jedi.)

“I’m still not sure I understand why the handstands are necessary,” Jyn comments, definitely not analysing the shift of muscle under skin as Cassian dedicates himself to downing the entire bottle. Skywalker, on the other hand, only grins wider and sends his bottle of water to do aerial somersaults in the air. 

“It’s good for the soul. My teacher always -- used to to tell me that.” A shadow crosses his face, and it’s so incongruous with his normally joyful expression that Jyn almost misses it before it leaves as quickly as it came. 

Cassian caps off his bottle and puts it down. “You’re a good teacher,” he comments, blandly - too blandly. Jyn’s eyes narrow. “I think your former teacher would be proud to see your progress now.”

To Jyn’s utter lack of surprise, Skywalker’s expression brightens and he finally plucks his bottle out of the air. “Thanks, Cassian!”

“You’re --” Cassian splutters as a stream of water hits his face, with Skywalker quickly getting out of reach. “Why did I agree to train with you.”

“Because there’s literally no one else to train with?” Skywalker suggests innocently, well out of Cassian’s range. “And you were desperate?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Cassian mutters. “I’m no longer desperate.”

Jyn quickly ducks out of way of Skywalker’s next offensive.

 

***

 

It’s around this time that Jyn first notices something wrong with Cassian. 

There is nothing --  _ wrong _ , with him, per se. His mandatory fitness and mental checks come back better than ever despite his rapidly expanding number of responsibilities across Alliance Intel. He still manages to fit in increasingly long hours with Skywalker, and then a few more hours tinkering on his U-Wing. The entire Alliance force probably sees him at some point during the day. 

The entire Alliance force minus Jyn, that is.

His evasive techniques would almost be admirable, she thinks, if they weren’t currently in operation against her. They shared a room, for kriff’s sake, yet for the past two weeks Jyn could’ve fooled herself into thinking she had a single room, if it weren’t for the still damp toothbrush sitting on the counter in their shared bathroom every morning when she took a shower. 

So, no. The problem wasn’t with Cassian, but with his problem  _ with her _ .

Which -- was fine, really. Jyn ignores the strange way the words on her sternum feel cold, a constant sink that leeches the warmth from her that no number of bundled coats can help. Cassian is busy,  _ she’s  _ busy, they’ve all been caught up in the repetitive motion of wake up, work, eat, sleep, and rinse and repeat.

It’s fine, she tells herself, and goes on with her day. 

Except - Jyn has never been one for sentiment, yet she finds herself turning to comment on Kes’ newest lame joke at mealtimes, or ready to step around another person by the sink as they take turns to brush their teeth, elbows clattering together and into ribs, or turning onto her side to say “goodnight”. Jyn turns to air, brushes her teeth unimpeded, and says goodnight to nobody, and it’s ridiculous; she lived for a decade with Saw’s rebels (never really a part of their group, always Saw’s protege who was maybe definitely the child of the enemy), then she’d left and lived another few years by herself with nothing but her duffel on her back and blaster on her hip. She didn’t,  _ doesn’t _ , need anyone. 

And yet. 

Maybe it was because of the Force-sensitivity, she thinks in moments when she can’t distract herself with training or reading or calculating odds with K-2SO for the hell of it. Maybe there was too much darkness, too much selfishness in Jyn for Cassian to willingly be in contact with. Cassian himself has dipped his hands in just as much violence and bloodshed, yet he has always borne it as responsibility, a necessary evil for good to prevail.

Does necessity make evil any better? 

Jyn doesn’t know. 

 

***

 

“Oh  _ kriff _ .”

Jyn scrambles to her feet and sticks out her hand to help up the unfortunate base personnel she just knocked over. Her hand falters slightly when she recognises the twin buns, the white robes, and the very regal persona wearing them.

“No harm done,” Organa agrees, accepting her hand up and gracefully standing back up. Everything she does is graceful. Jyn tugs a little self-consciously at the bottom of her uniform coat. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Jyn says sheepishly. “Wasn’t watching where I was going, too busy reading.”

Organa smiles. “I know something about that,” she says, and she doesn’t  _ sound _ angry. “What were you reading?”

Jyn turns on her datapad screen and hands it over, watching as one fine eyebrow steadily climbs. “ _ An Essay on Use of Kyber Crystals in Temporal Hyperdrive Augmentation _ ?” 

Jyn looks blankly back at her. “It’s interesting?” she offers. 

The second eyebrow joins the first. “You find the hypothetics of hyperdrive augmentation interesting?” 

“Yes?”

“Fascinating.” Organa turns the screen off and hands it back to Jyn. “I’ve read your file,” she states, so matter-of-fact that Jyn almost forgets to be irritated that her entire history is at the beck and call of High Command. 

Almost. 

“And what does my file say, Senator Organa?” 

Organa looks unruffled by Jyn’s acerbic tone. “It says that you never completed any formal schooling, that you were home-schooled until the age of six at most. I’d say an educational record like that somewhat precludes the possibility of having advanced hyperdrive experimentation as a hobby.”

Jyn tries not to bristle. “I learn fast,” she tosses out. “It’s not hard. Most people just think too slowly.”

Organa gazes at her for a very long moment, before turning around and walking back up the hallway the way she’d been coming down before Jyn had barrelled into her. “Walk with me,” she says.

 

***

 

“You’re incredible,” Organa tells her, later on as they sit in the canteen for the night meal. At least, Organa eats - Jyn is still too busy digesting the afternoon’s events to even begin processing her meal. 

“Uh,” Jyn says. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” Jyn tries very hard to ignore the way Organa looks at her, like Jyn’s ability to move numbers was somewhat more impressive than, say, the ability to move actual objects. 

“May I be frank with you, Lieutenant?” Organa asks, at last, putting down her spoon and folding slim hands on the table in front of her. 

“I’d welcome it,” Jyn replies truthfully. She would, in actual fact, greatly appreciate a few more people being frank with her and a few less just evading her altogether. 

Organa smiles. “Lieutenant Erso, I’d like to have you as a part of my strategy and analytics team.  Would you be willing to join?”

Jyn stares at her. “All this, because I aced a few tests?”

“Those weren’t your standard Galactic benchmark tests,” Organa says. “I started you off with some of the entry exams to top Coruscant and Corellian universities, before moving off into specific streams. You’ve effectively tested out of half the Advanced Temporal Mechanics degree.”

Jyn looks at Organa, who meets her gaze serenely. “Right,” Jyn says weakly. “Those kinds of tests.”

“I don’t expect you to give me an answer now,” Organa assures her. “I understand that you’re still undergoing deployments with Lieutenant Dameron and the rest of the Pathfinder squadron. How does to the end of the week sound?”

Today is Taungsday, which meant there were still five days to go. Jyn looks away. Thinks of an empty time slot on her calendar where booze night once was. 

Within a heartbeat she looks back to Organa. “No need,” Jyn says. “I accept.”

 

***

 

Working with Organa is yet another duty crammed into Jyn’s schedule. The downside is that she finds herself cradling a cup of caf almost every moment of the day just to stay awake on increasingly shrinking sleep time. 

The upside is that she’s almost too busy to think about the eerily empty spaces in her life. 

“We need to figure out the Empire’s next move,” Organa,  _ Leia _ , tells her. Around them the control centre is alive with the bustle of personnel. 

At first there had been some grumblings about her presence at the very heart of the Alliance base, mutters about  _ Imperial scum _ and  _ better not take after her father _ . Jyn had ignored the whispers on her first day, and Organa had shown no signs of hearing anything despite being no further from the source than Jyn had been. Jyn hadn’t been surprised. Organa owed her no loyalty.

But the next time Jyn had walked in there had been no bitter side-glances, no whispers behind raised hands, no jibes at her father. And when Organa had walked in the room had tellingly fallen silent, and Jyn had decided that Organa was Leia now. 

“I know.” Jyn shifts and hands Leia the datapad she’s been working out probabilities on. “I’ve made a list of their most likely courses of action, based off past patterns and the intel we’ve received.” 

Leia scans the datapad. “You think they’re going to attack Bespin,” she says. “Why?”

“They’re building a second Death-Star.” Jyn brings up the relevant reports on their holoscreen. “A weapon that size is going to need a lot of coolant, and the biggest, and richest source of Tibanna is the mining colony on Bespin.”

Leia nods, handing back the datapad. “I’ll take this High Command. We may need to send Captain Andor out to do some reconnaissance, but he’s currently on a mission.”

Jyn stares. “Cassian’s out on a mission?” she asks, going for casual but clearly missing if the way that the look in Leia’s eyes turns thoughtful is any indicator.

“The Captain went with Luke to Dagobah,” Leia says. “Luke had a vision teling him to go to Dagobah to seek another Master to learn from. Captain Andor accompanied him as both security and also to improve his own skills. Their estimated return is in two weeks.”

Two. Kriffing. Weeks. Maybe more, because Jyn doesn’t even know when they left for Dagobah. 

“Alright,” Jyn says steadily, despite the way her sternum has turned to ice and and heart to lead and there’s a feeling in her stomach she can’t quite name. “I guess we’ll see about the recon mission when they return, then.”

 

***

 

_ Room Transfer Application _

Submit? [YES] [NO] 

 

***

 

That’s a lie, actually. 

There has been a constant in Jyn’s life, and that is _that_ _nothing is constant_.

The only constant is that nothing is. Jyn’s always thought there was a certain poetry to that. 

When nothing could be relied on to stay for longer than a day, and when people came and went like as if Jyn’s life was only tangential to their own, Jyn took comfort in the fact that if she was in deep shit one day, then at the very least she’d be in a different kind of deep shit the next. 

But those words,  _ those words _ . 

Estoy en el cielo, her skin proclaims. Am I in heaven? 

In the way of distant, nebulous ideas, the ones that never really coalesce into solid thoughts, Jyn had come to rely, in a way, on the boy from Jedha, the one who had spoken those words. The only one, actually. It had been hope, Jyn can admit. The hope that the words had signified something, something important - important enough that someone would stay. 

So it’s a lie that she can’t name the feeling in her stomach as the words across her sternum burn with cold fire, as her heart weighs down upon her heavily. Jyn knows what it is. 

It’s the feeling when someone you love leaves. 

 

***

 

“We have a situation,” Leia says, as soon as Jyn stumbles into the control room rubbing her eyes blearily. 

“I’d certainly hope you didn’t comm me at 3AM for nothing,” Jyn snipes, before catching sight of the drawn expressions around the control room. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Luke.” Leia meets Jyn’s eyes. “And Captain Andor. Lando Calrissian sent the Alliance a transmission - Luke and Andor have been captured by the Empire.”

She suddenly feels cold. “What -- why were they even there?”

There’s a look in Leia’s eyes that Jyn thinks could be pity, and she bristles. “We’re not sure. But we’re launching a rescue mission.”

“When do we leave?” Jyn asks, accepting a datapad from an ensign and flipping through the available details, pushing down the way her heart races. “We’ll need a team. Six, seven people.”

“We need a plan,” Leia corrects her, and when Jyn looks up to snarl, to counter that they needed to  _ leave immediately _ , she realises that the look in the other woman’s eyes was a lot less pitying and a lot more sympathetic. 

Luke was Leia’s friend, Jyn remembers abruptly, and the bitter words die in her throat. 

“You’re right,” Jyn concedes. “We need a plan. And I know just who can help us with that.” 


End file.
